Deep in the Meadow
by LuvRuePrim
Summary: 12-year-old Rue's life is turned upside-down when she is chosen to compete in the 74th Hunger Games. Leaving her five sisters and mom to fend for themselves, she battles her hardest to return home. Rue's story from the reaping to her heartbreaking death.
1. Chapter 1: Alone

**Author's Note**  
**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. The fantastic and incredible Suzanne Collins does. I wasn't sure what to put as Rue's surname, but I thought 'Bayley' suited her well. My apologies to anyone who thinks otherwise. This is my first fanfic, so I hope you enjoy! Please R&R, and add any thing that you think I've gotten wrong in this. I want to make this story as accurate to Suzanne Collins' description of Rue and her family as possible.**

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"Rue Bayley."

It's me! Me! My name has been called. All the wind is knocked out of me. No! I can't go! I have my family to help support. Daisy, Joy, Rose, Lilly, Annabelle, Mom! I can't leave them.

But I have to.

A murmur of dissent rumbles through the crowd, as it does whenever a young child, a twelve-year-old, is chosen. I guess I had it coming. My name was in the reaping ball nineteen times. Nineteen times on my first year. Out of thousands, maybe millions. Who knows how many twelve-to-eighteen-year-olds there are in District Eleven.

I'm given a little push by someone behind me, a push that says, "Up you go. I'm sorry." Sorry it has to be you. Sorry you have to die.

I slowly make my way through the crowd, my face pale, feeling the cameras zooming in on me like predators watching prey before they pounce. It's as if I'm wading through thick mud, or a neck-high bush. Every step hurts. Eventually, though, I reach the stage and shakily take my place on the stage.

"Any volunteers?" the District 11 escort asks in his ridiculous Capitol warble. How on earth do people talk like that? Barely opening their mouths. Raising their tone at the end of questions, making it sound like they're asking questions. Their voices going up and down in odd places. Hissing on the 's', like snakes – and acting just as slippery. I hold my head high, not daring to look my family. I wonder if any of them would volunteer in my place, if they could? No one speaks up, except for the wind, which whistles past me and swirls around the district. I expect this. If you're chosen, you're on your own. District Eleven is the largest district. There's an uncountable number of eligible people, and no one dares to volunteer to take the place of a girl in a family with six kids.

My throat tightens, as it does whenever I try not to cry, and I clench my fists. There's this heavy weight in the pit of my stomach; I know something really, really bad is going to happen to me but the full realisation hasn't quite hit me yet. I just have this horrible feeling of dread.

The escort calls out the name of a boy called Thresh. I watch Thresh with wary eyes as he takes to the stage. He mustn't be from around where I live – I've never seen him before in my life. I would remember if I did. He's a massive guy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, real heavy and bulky. The biggest teenager I've ever laid eyes on, as big as a lot of those District Two boys. They're real giants. Thresh lumbers up to the stage and takes his place. Of course, there are no volunteers. At least Thresh looks like he has a chance at winning. Me, on the other hand...

I nervously tuck my thick, dark hair behind my ear with trembling fingers and face the monster who will soon be my enemy. Who already is my enemy. I hope he has a soft spot for small, young girls like me. We're directed to shake hands, and my hand is lost in his unbelievably large grasp. His hand is warm but his eyes are the opposite, and I have to avert my gaze in fear of breaking down.

I hear a few sobs in the crowd and I recognise them to be my sisters'. I take a big, ragged breath and face the crowd once again as the escort trills, "Welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games."

At those words my life just falls apart.

A strangled sob escapes my lips and I desperately hold back any more of them. I have to be strong. Thresh and I are swept away into the Justice Building by a whole lot of Peacekeepers. My breaths are coming in quick pants and my hands are clenched so tightly into fists I swear my nails draw blood. Now the worst part comes: Saying goodbye to our families.

My heart squeezes as I think the word goodbye. It's goodbye forever. This is the last time I'll ever see them. They'll see me, not in person, but on TV. In the Hunger Games. But from this hour on all I'll have left of them are memories.

No, Rue, I think sharply. Don't think about that now. Not while the cameras are staring at you like wide, unblinking eyes, drinking in your every move, your every emotion, your every word. I struggle to keep my emotions under control. I'm ushered into a room and left alone. I use the short time to find the right words to say to my sisters and my mother – words that will leave them sad to see me go, but not absolutely devastated. I scratch the soft, smooth material on the seat that I'm sitting on. I don't know what it is, but it's sure relaxing. I inhale the musty, moldy scent of the old building, using it to settle my nerves. Well, a little.

I look up as I hear the creak of the unused wooden door and see my family file in. We all look pretty much the same, except Mom's face is lined and weathered from squinting while working under the hot sun. We all have dark skin, all of District 11 does. My sisters all stand slightly on their toes and their arms slightly extended, like a flock of little birds. Mom says I do that too. Makes sense, I guess. Working in the treetops at the orchard with the mockingjays has given me the skill of hopping from branch to branch as easily as walking on the ground.

I smile weakly as my younger sisters all rush over to me and pile on top of me in a group hug. I clutch them all tightly to me, never wanting to let go. Then I stand up and throw myself onto my mother. She holds me close.

"I don't want to go," I whisper.

Mom pulls back and we sit on the floor, not on the chairs, in a circle like at home when we're listening to each other's stories or listening to each other's songs. Music is important, Mom always says. It fills your heart and helps you work through the day. I join hands with my sisters, but all five want to sit next to me, so I end up in the centre of my own miniature circle, each of my sisters placing a hand on me somewhere – my arm, my hand, my shoulder, my back, my knee. I reach over Lilly to grab Mom's hand.

"Mom," I choke.

"Hush, Rue. Don't worry," Mom says softly. "You will be fine."

But we both know I won't be.

"Will you be OK, though?" I ask, holding her hand tighter.

"We'll be okey-dokey karaoke, Rue," Daisy says.

"Yeah. We'll work extra hard. And Rose can get tessera in a few years," Joy agrees.

"No! No, I don't want any of you taking tessera. I don't want any of you to go through what I'll have to go through," I say firmly. Tessera is what you're given if you enter your name into the reaping ball more times, but all it is a meagre supply of grain that tastes like wood-chips and cooks into a yucky brown mush.

"But you will win, right, Rue?" Annabelle asks, squeezing my arm. Her eyes are so full of hope and love that I struggle not to cry.

"I'll try my hardest, Belle. You can count on that," I choke.

"Pinky promise!" Daisy says, sticking out her hand. I wrap my pinky finger around hers and give it a shake, then do it with the rest of my sisters. Mom's eyes tear up. I hold out my hand to her.

"Pinky promise, Mom," I breathe. She nods, beginning to cry now, and curls her little finger around mine.

I tell my sisters what they have to do to help out now that I won't be able to – if they're given my old job at the orchard, the job at the very top of the trees, then they mustn't forget to pass along the message of closing time through the mockingjays; give Mom a hand in the kitchen, even when she doesn't ask for it; go to bed early and work hard during the day; and above all, keep their heads high and be brave. "If you're brave, then nothing can ever knock you down," I say. "No matter what happens, you have to stay strong."

Then I address each of my sisters individually, then my mother, telling them how much I love them in turn and the best things about them.

"You can win, Rue!" Lilly says fiercely. "You can fly like a bird! Just let the other people fight themselves and then you can win because you'll be hiding in the trees."

"Yeah! Just keep running. At the Corncup –"

"Cornucopia," I correct Daisy.

"Cornucopia. At the Cornucopia, just run from the fighting in the other way."

"That doesn't make sense, Daisy," I say gently, rubbing her shoulder.

"This whole thing doesn't make sense!" Annabelle cries.

"You have to win, Rue. You can," Lilly repeats urgently.

"Maybe," I murmur. I look to Mom. "Make sure you raise them as well as you raised me," I say. Mom just nods, crying too much to speak. "Don't cry, Mom," I say, tearing up myself.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice ragged and uneven. "It's just… my little flower. She's finally bloomed, and now…"

Now I'm in real danger of crying. Mom hasn't called me her little flower since I was a toddler. After all, I was named after a flower, one that sits high on the mountains. "Mom…"

I hear the Peacekeepers footsteps and I pull everyone in for a great big hug. The Peacekeepers have to all but pull them off me and I'm yelling after them how much I love them. My mother tries to come back in, screaming, "Wait! Rue! Rue! Wear this in the arena!" She throws a braided necklace at me and it slides across the floor. "I will, Mom! I'll never take it off," I yell. But the doors are closed, and I'll never see her again. I hear a tune being sung. I strain my ears harder. There it is again – my four-note tune that signifies that it's time to go home. It must be Mom. I run to the door and sing it back in a clear, loud voice. I don't hear it again.

I collapse on the couch, my arms wrapped around my stomach in an attempt to hold back the tears. You can cry later, I tell myself. There are cameras out there; hold it in until you get to the train.

I can't breathe. The wind has been knocked out of me, as if I've fallen out of a tree and landed on my back, as I've done plenty of times. All that's going through my mind is breathe, breathe, breathe…

Soon Peacekeepers pull me to my feet roughly and guide me outside with guns trained on me. They'd be happy to shoot me; it's easy to get another female tribute. We're expendable. Thresh is out there, too. He doesn't even look like he's had a rough time saying goodbye. There're cameramen absolutely everywhere, like leaves on the ground in fall. They crawl along beside Thresh and me. I purse my lips and stick my nose in the air, showing that the viewers in the Capitol shouldn't count me out. That I know what I'm doing and I'm going to do it with ferocity. In truth, I'm completely lost inside. How can they expect a twelve-year-old to just act OK with leaving all that she's left behind to fight to the death against twenty-three other tributes while the Capitol citizens sit by and enjoy the show? Ever since the districts had an uprising against the Capitol way back in the day and District 13 was obliterated, the Hunger Games have been put into motion. One boy, one girl from each district, thrown into an arena. Kill or be killed. There's only one winner, of course. There can only be one winner. Which means only one person can live.

And I know that person can't ever be me. Oh, I want it to be. How I desperately want it to be me. But there's no way. There are boys the size of Thresh there, but even more deadly as they know how to handle weapons too. And girls who can hit a bull's eye with a throwing knife from a million miles away. There are kids like me too. But we won't last long. We never do.

I stumble onto the train after pausing for a moment or two so the cameras have a better chance to devour our images. I lean against a wall as the train doors slide shut. We speed away and I feel a bit weird from moving so fast but not moving my legs. I'm not good at math, but I'm guessing at this pace we should reach the Capitol in less than a day.

I'm directed to my cabin and I lurch into my temporary bedroom in a way that suggests I'm drunk, lock the door behind me and tumble onto the bed. I hug the pillow, rocking back and forth. And finally I allow myself to cry.


	2. Chapter 2 : The Girl From District 12

**Thanks for deciding to read the second chapter! I really appreciate all comments. I hope you enjoy further chapter of Deep in the Meadow.**

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I don't know how long it's been when I hear a knock on the door.

"Rue, honey?" It's the district escort. What's his name? Aurelius, or something.

"What?" I mumble, hating the weakness in my voice.

"Listen, honey, I know you're a bit upset, but you have to come and eat something, mm-K?"

I sigh. "OK."

"That's the spirit. Get changed and I'll see you at the table, mm-K?"

"OK." There's no point in arguing.

I get up slowly and get undressed to have a shower, slipping out of my best dress — a hand-me-down from Mom's side of the family. It's a light thing, green and summery, with thin shoulder straps. I step out of my shoes — ballet flats, also a hand-me-down and my only pair of shoes. I pad to the bathroom. I gape at all the buttons to press. I grin and slam my fists on every single one. The shower fills with perfumes and bubbles and gels and lotions and I'm hopping from foot to foot to avoid being decapitated by furious jets of boiling and freezing water. But I'm laughing. I manage to shower amongst all the chaos. Hot water! I can't remember the last time I even had a lukewarm bath. This is absolute luxury!

I step out if the shower and search for a comb to tame my wet hair before it dries, but I can't find one. Honestly, if they have all this technology the least they can do is have a comb somewhere. I notice another set of buttons and hurry over to them, giggling. I mash them under the palms of my hands and my body is instantly dried, and so is my hair. A vibrating flow of air courses through my hair, leaving it glossy and in the best condition it's ever been in. I can't resist running my hands through it. "Wow," I breathe. I'm glad the shower washed away almost all traces of me crying, and my dark skin hides the remaining telltales. I pop out of the bathroom and open the vast set of drawers. I pull out some clothes and get dressed, locking Mom's necklace around my neck, then cautiously step out of my room, looking left and right, as if I'm already in the arena. I'm actually just looking for someone to ask where the dining cart is. I spy a twenty-something-looking man with sandy blonde hair and a heavily freckled face, like a freckle bomb exploded on his face. He's wearing a formal white suit. "Excuse me, where's the dining cart?" I ask him shyly.

He gestures me to follow him and leads me to where I want to go.

"Thanks," I say he nods and marches away. The most delicious smell hits my nose and I instantly begin to drool. I lick my lips and hurry inside the cart. My jaw drops when I see Thresh and Aurelius and our only two District 11 victors alive — Thresh and my mentors — tucking into the largest meal on earth. There's some sort of mouthwatering meat covered in a creamy sauce, with a side dish of boiled vegetables: peas, carrot, pumpkin, potato, and some I don't even know the name of. I've had potato before, a long time ago, and it was a bit old so I got sick. I find myself being drawn to the enticing food and before I know it I'm sitting in a chair, shoveling the food in my mouth as fast as I can. It's so rich! I begin to feel a bit queasy but I keep eating anyway.

"Rue, honey, use a knife and fork," Aurelius says gently, touching my arm. He holds up a knife. What a useless knife! It's not even sharp and the hilt is all shiny with elaborate carvings on it. You can't use that for anything! It's so blunt. I frown at it and turn back to my food. Too quickly I'm finished and licking the remnants off the plate.

"Rue," Aurelius warns in a steady voice. He grabs my plate and sets it aside. He looks at me. "Stop licking the plate. That is disgusting. We have plenty more food, all you have to do is ask for it. And use a knife and fork."

"That knife is useless. And what's a fork?" I ask. In District 11 the pay is so poor pretty much all of us can only afford a knife if we want food on the table.

Aurelius holds up a thing that's like the knife but at the end it has three long prongs and it's not sharp.

"How do you use that?"

"Like this." Aurelius demonstrates, sticking the fork in the meat, slicing it with the knife and lifting it to his mouth with the fork. He puts the fork in his mouth and bites off the meat. I look at him like he's mad. "That's so weird. I think I'll just use my hands, thanks. It's way easier," I say. "And that knife is so blunt it shouldn't be able to cut anything." Another towering dish is placed in front of me and I dig in. Aurelius snorts disapprovingly. "At least Thresh has some dignity," he mutters.

I glance up at my fellow tribute, who's at least trying to use the utensils to eat, without much success. He's getting some help from Adriana, one of our mentors. She won the Games quite a few years ago, when the Careers' food was wiped out. The Careers are the tributes from districts 1, 2 and 4. You aren't supposed to train for the Hunger Games, but the Careers are trained for it their whole lives and are eager to volunteer at the reaping. In fact, it gets complicated when so many people claim they'll take the tributes' place. The Careers' tactics are grab all the good stuff from the Cornucopia, which basically means all the food, ally up with each other, kill everyone else, then turn on each other. But no food, no way to win. The Careers always store the food in one place and if that's destroyed, other people have a chance of winning.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand and lick my fingers. Aurelius screws up his nose at me and clicks his fingers. A small bowl of water with a towel is placed between us and he says to me, "Use this to clean your fingers, honey."

I dunk the towel into the water and scrub each finger clean. "Thanks." I shuffle on the chair, which is becoming fairly uncomfortable. I lift my legs up and air cross-legged on it. There. That's better.

"What are you doing?" Aurelius asks haughtily.

"Eating," I snap. I sip at an orange liquid that is placed in front of me. It has an acidic zing to it. "What's this?"

"Orange juice," George, the other mentor, says.

"Orange juice?" I repeat. "From an orange?"

"That's right," he says.

"Tastes great." I lick my lips.

A bowl of colored spherical things is placed in front of me. Even though I haven't touched it, I can feel the cold radiating off it. "What on earth...?" I mutter as a thing is placed next to the bowl. It's like the fork except there's no prongs, it's all filled in, and curved. I look at Thresh to see him just as puzzled.

"That's a spoon," Adriana explains. "Just scoop it up. Like this." She takes Thresh's spoon and digs it into the cold stuff.

"So, like a shovel?" I suggest.

George nods. "Exactly. A miniature shovel."

"And what's this?" I ask, pointing to the cold stuff.

"That's ice cream. Do you want chocolate sauce?" Aurelius asks.

"Chocolate sauce?" I repeat, confused.

"Oh, don't like chocolate? Well, there's caramel, strawberry, banana... There's fruit too, and sprinkles. What would you like?"

This sudden flow of information muddles my brain. "I— What's—?"

"Oh, shut up, Aurelius, you've confused them now," Adriana tuts. "OK. So this is ice cream, vanilla flavor. It's really cold, so don't eat too much at once or you'll get a brain-freeze, which is a pain in the neck."

This alarms me greatly. Brain-freeze? I don't want a frozen brain!

"Chocolate, strawberry, caramel and banana sauces are just flavoring to put on your ice cream," Adriana continues. She goes on to explain what sprinkles are. "So, anything take your fancy?"

Thresh just shakes his head and pushes the ice cream away. He rises and stalks from the room.

I glance at the ice cream nervously then back at Adriana. "Why would you eat this if it freezes your brain?" I ask.

Everyone laughs. "Oh, you're so adorable, Rue," Aurelius says, which irritates me. _Adorable_?

"It doesn't actually harm you," George says. "It's just food. But if you eat it too fast, your head aches a little, so take it easy. It's just called a brain-freeze. Your brain doesn't actually freeze."

"Oh," I breathe. "Well. OK." I try a little bit of ice cream then spit it out, much to Aurelius' disgust. "It's so cold!" I gasp.

"We warned you," George says. "It's called _ice_ cream for a reason. Do you still want it?"

I push it away. "I'll pass. Got anything else?"

"Well, we have some chocolate tarts, but Rue, honey, don't stuff yourself, you'll make yourself sick," Aurelius says. I wish he'd stop calling me _honey_.

"'Stuff myself'? What do you mean?"

"I mean don't overeat. It's not attractive," Aurelius snaps impatiently.

I don't think I could ever overeat. There's just so much room in my stomach from never feeling full at all in my whole life.

"Let her eat, Aurelius. It'd be best for her to put on a few pounds before... You know," George says. I appreciate his sensitivity to my feelings. Yes, I don't want to hear the words 'The Hunger Games' unless it is absolutely necessary.

I order the chocolate tarts and bite into one. It explodes in my mouth, coating my tongue in its sweet, sugary, rich flavor. "Whoa!" I exclaim, my eyebrows shooting up. My mouth is full, so my word comes out as "Mmmf!" Crumbs fly from my mouth. Adriana giggles at Aurelius' horrified expression.

I gobble down the remaining tarts. "Oh," I moan when I'm done, laying a hand delicately on my completely full stomach, feeling sick. "How do you eat this stuff all the time?" I keep my mouth clamped shut after that, to help me keep my food down. Normally, at home, I eat various types of berries, roots, flowers and bark. If I can keep those down, I can keep this Capitol stuff down. At least that's what I tell myself.

Aurelius eyes my feet, which are still up on my chair. "Where are your shoes?"

"Hm?" I mumble, following his accusing glare. Gosh, this full stomach is making me sleepy. Oh, I forgot to put shoes on. I give a very small shrug, barely moving to not roll my stomach. I make like Thresh and leave the room without a word. As I walk slowly to my room I stare out the windows. I didn't notice how dark it had become. I don't know where we are now but we have to be close to the Capitol. The dark makes everything hard to see the view, and going 250 miles an hour makes everything a blur anyway. I push open my bedroom door and lie down on my bed, holding back my dinner. I notice that my dress from the reaping is gone, which squeezes my heart. That was my mother's, and they just took it away? Tears spring into my eyes again. My eyes find that big dresser I got my clothes out of and I guess there's all sorts of night clothes in there but right now all I want to do is sleep and hope that I'll wake up to find this was all a really bad nightmare. Daisy will wake me up by rolling on top of me as usual, and Lilly will have fallen out of the bed we six all share. Annabelle will be up already like the early bird she is, helping Mom in the kitchen. We'll get up, eat whatever small morsel of food we have, and head to the orchard to work. Then up in the treetops, surrounded by my friends the mockingjays, I'll watch the sun rise.

But instead I hear Aurelius' irritating voice, "Rue, honey, we're watching the reaping recaps, if you could join us. Thresh, come on."

I haul myself out of bed and drag my feet to the room with a ginormous TV that isn't fuzzy and has sound, unlike the battered old thing at home. I sit on one of the single sofas as Thresh shuffles in and collapses onto the other single sofa opposite to me. We regard each other, me cautiously and him with a poker-face. A shiver runs through me as we stare each other down. People actually expect me to fight guys like him? No, I think with sudden realization. No, they don't. They expect me to be wheedled out in the initial bloodbath before the real Games begin.

"Rue, Thresh, quit staring at each other," Aurelius complains in a whiny voice. "You're giving me chills."

I look away and at the screen. "Sorry," I mumble. I feel Thresh's eyes on my for a moment longer, then he looks at the TV too.

The scene on the TV cuts to the District 12 reaping. A girl called Primrose Everdeen is called by a silly woman with a bright pink bob haircut and a spring-green suit. "Oh, she looks like you, Rue!" Adriana exclaims as the twelve-year-old girl climbs the stage. She doesn't look like me, I think. She's a blonde thing with big blue eyes and pale skin, which is near white in her fear. The commentators keep up a constant flow of babble over the top of the scene, but I pay no attention to them.

Then something very unexpected happens. I hear a screech from the crowd on the TV: "Prim!" The crowd parts to make way for a sixteen-year-old-looking girl, with olive skin, dark, straight hair and slate get eyes. "Prim!" she screams, stumbling up to the stage. She gasps, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

The entire room is silent. The entire crowd on TV is silent. Except for one little Capitol-accented voice, coming from the podium on the screen: "Lovely!"

It's that chirpy, unnecessarily enthusiastic District 12 escort. I'm sure she's a nice person underneath all that makeup but it seems she's trying her hardest to make everyone dislike her. She continues brightly, "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um . . ." Her voice trails away and she looks down at her hands, confused.

"What does it matter?" a tight voice says behind her and the cameras train on a man who I guess is the mayor of District Twelve. He appears to be distressed by this ordeal. "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."

The blonde girl, Primrose — Prim — wraps her skinny arms around the olive-skinned girl's waist and begins to scream desperately, tugging on the older girl with all her might. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," the olive-skinned girl, 'Katniss' Prim called her, snaps at Prim. She looks upset but she's acting tough. "Let go!"

A boy, appearing to be seventeen or more, has made his way through the crowd and has now swept Prim off the ground, away from Katniss. Prim's thrashing around, screaming, but the boy holds her tight. Who is he? Why is Katniss letting him hold Prim?

"Up you go, Catnip," the boy says casually, as if Katniss is walking up a hill and not to her almost inevitable death. But underneath I can hear the pain in his voice.

OK, he doesn't even seem to know Katniss — he can't even get her name right — and she's just turned away from Prim, who I guess is her sister, and marched up the stairs.

"Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" the escort cries happily. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," Katniss states blankly.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister," the escort declares. Wait, what? 'Bet my buttons'? What's that supposed to mean? "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills the escort.

I'm jolted a bit when the scene cuts to another part of the reaping, when a clearly drunken man staggers onto the stage. I catch the commentators saying something about the man. "Haymitch Abernathy," they call him.

He drapes an arm around Katniss' shoulders, much to her obvious distaste, and hollers, "Look at her. Look at this one!" Katniss looks like she's struggling to stay upright under Haymitch's weight. "I like her!" Haymitch continues to say. "Lots of..." He thinks for a long while, an expression of deep concentration passing over his face. "Spunk!" he finally announces proudly. "More than you!" He yells, letting Katniss go and storming in his wobbly inebriated state to the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into the camera, directly at the viewers. More than me? What on earth is 'spunk', anyway?

Haymitch open his large mouth to speak again but instead his knees buckle and he dives off the stage, unconscious. The commentators are laughing their heads off and cracking jokes about crazy District 12 and their unstable mentor, which I think is mean. The screen is filled with the images of passed-out Haymitch and I snort in disgust. How does Katniss and whichever unlucky District 12 boy supposed to have any chance of surviving in the arena if their only mentor is an alcoholic idiot? A team promptly whisks Haynitch away on a stretcher. The district escort adjusts her hair, which is now a wig without a doubt, as it's fallen to the right. "What an exciting day!" she announces in her silly accent. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She says this like it's a good thing. She hops over to the boy's reaping ball, dips her hand in, and hurries back to the podium, brandishing a paper slip. "Peeta Mellark," she reads. Katniss pales somewhat as the boy named Peeta shakily walks through the crowd and up to the stage. He could be Prim's brother, with his fair hair and skin and blue eyes. He's about Katniss' age I suppose; medium height and a stocky build. His expression screams alarm and fear and he attempts to control it.

No one speaks up when the district escort asks for volunteers. And the scene cuts to the District 11 reaping, home. There's me, being called and walking up to the stage. I'm glad I don't appear too shaken — frightened, sure, but not scared out of my wits, as I'm feeling underneath. Then there's Thresh, who makes me look four when he's next to me, according to size. My throat closes over when I see my mother and my sisters in the crowd. Our reaping is uneventful, so the scene flicks over to District 10, which is also mediocre compared to Twelve, but I feel pitiful for the boy chosen, as he has a crippled foot. He won't last an hour I bet – I bet my buttons. Ha-ha.

The other reapings play and my heart is sinking with each opponent presented. I'm the only twelve-year-old out of twenty-four kids. There are a few kids that stand out particularly, especially the absolute giant of a boy from District Two. I reckon he's even bigger then Thresh, which is saying something.

By the end of the reapings I'm ready to curl up in a fetal position and bury myself in a hole. Anything to get out of this. Thresh and I exit the room as if on cue, without speaking to anyone. We go to our own rooms and I lock the door behind me. I change into a silky nightdress but then, feeling too exposed, swap the nightdress for a pair of matching pants and shirt. I never had any pyjamas, just two sets of clothes to my name. I wore whatever I had on to bed then changed the next day. I slide under the sheets of the bed and they're so light and silky it's like they aren't even there. Yet they warm me up instantly. Their warmth reminds me of sharing my bed with my sisters. My heart aches. I wonder how they're coping. There'll be tears shed, no doubt. I imagine what it'll feel like to have only five in the bed. I'll tell you what, sleeping alone is the worst thing in the world. You feel so vulnerable and deserted. No one there to hug if it gets cold. No one to comfort if you wake from a nightmare. Just yourself.

I grab the fluffy comforter — I know what it is from the label — and hold it close to me. Eventually I drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: I Meet My Mentor

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**A big I HEART YOU goes out to FourNoteMelody and James018 for commenting and everything else, and, of course, the incredible Wing Commander Arnica Vinyaya for editing my work before I post it. Enjoy!**

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I'm woken by the sound of Aurelius' squawk. "Up and at 'em, everybody!"

I guess he means get up.

I lie in bed for a while, running over in my mind the nightmares I had. I was in the Games already, running to my family, which was being attacked by these muttations — Capitol-made creatures — and I was screaming for them to fight back or run but they were incapacitated. The ground beneath me was becoming quicksand as I desperately tried to sprint to them. Then the dream dissolved and instead there was a mockingjay in front of me, whistling my four-note melody. The song began to morph and soon the bird wasn't singing a tune, it was shrieking, "Prim! Prim! I volunteer! I volunteer for tribute!"

I blinked and the mockingjay was replaced by Katniss Everdeen. She held her head high and stared down at me, straight in the eye. "My name is Katniss Everdeen," she said. Then she crumpled to the ground, clutching her head, shouting, "Peeta! Peeta!"

Peeta Mellark appeared at her side. He crouched down beside Katniss and put an arm around her shoulder, glaring at me. "Why didn't you help her?" he yelled at me. "Why?"

The scene exploded in a million little shards and Mom and my sisters appeared. They all whispered, "Bye, Rue."

I woke up gasping for breath, shaking like a leaf with cold sweat running down my face. Automatically I reached out to hug one of my sisters to me, but no one was there, just the comforter. So I hugged that instead. It didn't really help, as it didn't feel even vaguely human, but eventually I fell back to sleep.

I get up, have a shower and throw on yesterday's clothes which aren't dirty, just a bit wrinkly. Then I hurry out to breakfast, brightening at the prospect of more food.

"Ah, there's our little fighter!" Aurelius exclaims as I come into the cart and take a seat. "Kept that food down last night?"

"Just," I admit. George, Adriana and Aurelius laugh.

"So what about those other tributes, huh? Pretty impressive this year," Aurelius warbles.

"Tell me about it," I mutter, buttering a roll. A large plate is set in front of me. I recognize some of the food on it. "Toast, eggs, funny-looking tomato—"

"It's fried," Aurelius prompts.

"Right, OK. Fried tomato, and what's this?"

"Bacon," George says. "Pork cooked in a special way." Pork? What's that? He sighs when he sees my puzzled face. "Pork is the meat of a pig. And so is bacon."

"Oh, OK." I grin and dive in. "You know," I begin to say, but I can't talk from all the food stuffed in my mouth so I swallow it. "You know, all I ever had was beef. And chicken. Only once or twice, though. Too expensive."

Thresh finally makes his entrance, looking exhausted. "Rough night?" I ask sympathetically. Thresh grunts and picks up his toast. Just a grunt. Nothing else. Well, it's progress.

For the first time I notice a cup in front of me. I pick it up, surprised by its warmth. "Whoa. What's this?"

The liquid inside is a creamy brown colour at it smells really nice.

"That's hot chocolate," Adriana says.

"But it's a liquid. It can't be hot chocolate; isn't chocolate a solid? Last night it was solid."

"Yes, but it's been melted and milk and cream and water has been added to it. Try it, it's delicious," George says.

I take a sip. "That's hot!"

"Then let it cool down for a while. Just leave it there and come back to it later," Adriana suggests gently. She smiles. "I was just like you when I first got on the train."

This gives me hope. Well, if we're like each other, that's something, right? I mean, she won.

"Is there any more orange juice?" I ask. A man serves it to me. "Thank you," I say, taking the juice and draining the cup almost in one go.

I eat the rest of my breakfast. "So, you're going to be prepped today for the parade later on. Sound good to you?" Aurelius says chirpily.

No. "Sure."

I rise from the table and make for the door when I spy something out of the corner of my eye. I run to the window and press my open hands against it. "Wow!" I exclaim. "Whoa! Thresh! Come on, you have to see this!"

I hop back from the window to grab his arm and tug on it. He sets down his knife and fork and comes to the window.

"The Capitol!" I say grandly, using a sweeping arm to present the Capitol to Thresh. He comes closer to the window and I press myself up against the glass again. There's people everywhere, people with full faces and healthy bodies, not thin and half-dead people. A starving child isn't anywhere to be seen. They're all pointing at us excitedly and I find myself waving back. I turn around to find Thresh back at the table.

"Well, aren't you hard to please," I say.

"I saw it," he mumbles defensively. His voice is rough and very low-pitched.

"You can talk!" I gasp, relieved. "No, wait, I didn't mean it like that. I mean I've never heard you talk before and it's nice that you finally said something—"

"Do you ever shut up?" he grumbles, not looking up from his breakfast.

There's a few beats of silence and then George bursts out laughing.

I frown. "At least I say something," I mutter, and turn back to the window. A little boy of about four or maybe five giggles and grins at me, waving his chubby arms. I wave back and soon I'm again captivated by the awesome sights. When I finally tear my gaze away Thresh is glowering at me. I shrink under his gaze. "What?" I say in a small voice.

"Why are you waving? They want you dead," Thresh says bluntly.

Oh yeah. I forgot. How could I forget? I guess with all the sights...

"I'm trying to get sponsors," I explain quickly. I wasn't really, but now I think about it, trying to round up a few sponsors couldn't hurt. Sponsors give you items in the arena, and the flow of gifts is controlled by your mentor.

Thresh grunts and licks his knife. "Oh! Thresh, honey!" Aurelius squawks. "Don't _do_ that!"

Thresh glances at Aurelius, his empty plate, then back at Aurelius. He stares him down as he makes a big show of running his tongue up the knife. Aurelius flinches. "You'll cut your tongue!" he protests weakly.

Thresh drops his knife on his plate with a loud, defiant clatter and stands up. He reaches the door when Aurelius exclaims, "Wait. Hang on for a moment. Your mentors have to tell you about today."

Thresh pauses with his big hand on the doorframe.

"Thresh, if you could come with me," George says smoothly, rising and leading Thresh out if the room. Aurelius bounces from the cart with that chirpiness that comes with being an escort. Adriana looks at me.

"So in a few minutes you're going to meet your prep team and your stylist, Ossian. Now, Ossian knows what he's doing, so don't fight him. Don't argue, don't even complain. The prep team is going to do stuff to you that you're not gonna like, but remember it's to get you sponsors. Sponsors equal a better chance of surviving in the arena."

I nod. "Is it hard? Thinking about the arena?" I ask softly.

Adriana thinks for a while. "I still have nightmares, ten years later," she replies in a grave voice. She shakes her head, smiling, though now it seems forced. "But let's not think about that."

I purse my lips. "All right then."

"So," she sighs. "What can you do?"

"You mean what can I do that will keep me alive?"

Adriana nods.

"Well..." I'm lost in thought for what seems like hours. "I can't fight. At all. I don't have any experience with knives or anything." Adriana looks like she expected this. "Um, OK, well—"

"I'm not finished," I cut in. Adriana raises her eyebrows but gestures for me to go on. "So like I said, I can't fight. What I can do is run."

"You're a fast runner?"

"Not exactly. Because I work in the treetops, the highest branches, at the orchard at home — well, worked," I add grimly, "— I can run real fast from branch to branch. Jump, I mean. And I'm light, which means no one will know I'm there."

Adriana mulls this over and soon she's nodding. "Your unimposing appearance is an advantage; the other tributes could leave you alone as they'll think you're unimportant. Your size is, yes, an advantage too, but it can also be a major disadvantage. Imagine you got yourself into a situation where you have to fight hand-to-hand. We have to get you good with a long distance weapon, so you can attack from the trees. Bow and arrow?"

I picture myself trying to leap from tree to tree holding a big bow, it getting tangled in the branches and hitting the trunks with loud taps. "Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Throwing knives?" Adriana suggests. I shrug. "OK."

Adriana can see I'm not happy with the conclusion. "Learn traps, maybe. Snares. Learn to fish, in case there's a lake. Or just steal from other tributes."

I nod nervously. "Sure. I'll try."

Adriana smiles sympathetically and checks her watch. "Time for prepping."

I sigh. "Fun," I mutter sarcastically.

Adriana laughs. "I have to admit, getting all dressed up was really bad. Sorry."

But she doesn't sound sorry at all.


	4. Chapter 4: Remade

**Thanks to everyone who's supported me as I write; I really appreciate it. Well, enough babbling from me - enjoy chapter four!**

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I don't know what hurts more — my skin, which has been viciously attacked by wax strips, ripping every bit of hair from my body apart from my eyebrows and the hair on my head; or my ears, which have been even more viciously assaulted by the constant jabber of my prep team.

"Out you hop!" Octavius declares. Octavius is a thin, wiry man, quite small, and he looks as if a rainbow has thrown up on him. Stripy rainbow lipstick. Rainbow-coloured curly hair that sticks up all around his head as if someone's electrocuted him. Each of his eyelashes is a different colour to the next one. His long, shaped fingernails are rainbow. Even his skin. His entire body has been dyed different colours. 'To stay ahead of fashion', he claims. It gives me a headache to even look at him.

I don't want to get out of the bath. It's a bath full of this special liquid that soothes my tingling, stinging skin. First I was greased down with this cream. My hair's been done – braided sideways across my head so the braid falls over my left shoulder. My nails have been shaped into perfect curves and polished so much I swear I can see my reflection in them. My body has been scrubbed clean a million times over, it feels like. I feel like a mandarin without its peel on. It's awful.

"Come on, you gorgeous blossom, you!" Octavius prompts. "It's time to meet Ossian. You're going to love him!"

I highly doubt that.

I slowly climb out of the bath, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. There I am, stark naked, in front of a man I barely even know.

I have no choice. Don't even complain, Adriana had said. I haven't yet, but this prep team is pushing it.

Metella and Laetitia, the two women in my prep team, rush over to me. Metella has ankle-long hair, golden with pink streaks, and her face has been tattooed to make her look like a cat. Whiskers, flat nose, strange yellow eyes. Laetitia is a plump woman with dyed dark blue skin and odd yellow-green objects embedded in it all over her body. She says they're glow-in-the-dark.

"Arms out," Laetitia instructs me, gently slapping my hand. I hold out my arms. My prep team circles me, armed with tweezers, and pluck out any stray hairs that have been somehow left behind in the painful extraction process, still chattering away like a whole flock of jabberjays. When they've inspected every inch of my bare body a couple of times, they step back and smile brightly. "Could be worse," Metella says with a catlike grin that says _oh well_. As soon as they leave I snatch my new robe from the table beside me and hurriedly put it on. The door opens and in walks a man. At least I think it's a man. He has large paws — um, hands, and his nails have been sharpened into claws. His skin has been patterned in a way that suggests he has fur. He has dark, wary, intelligent eyes and his ears are small and pointed on the top of his head, which sends a shiver down my spine. The area on his face which is his nose and mouth has been altered so it juts out a bit. My eyes widen as I see a bushy tail swishing slowly behind him. I've seen the animal he's trying to become outside the electrified fence back home.

He's a wolf.

I gulp.

"Hello, Rue. I'm your stylist, Ossian," he says in a voice that sounds like a wolf's growling, which contrasts so greatly with his Capitol accent my ears can't quite make out what he really sounds like.

"Uh — hi," I stammer, feeling frozen in fear of this man. Ossian tuts.

"Well, take your robe off," he says impatiently.

"Um... Er," I babble, procrastinating. I give in with a sigh and unrobe. I cross my arms and try to shrink as much as possible. After instructions to hold my arms out, Ossian does as my prep team did, circling me and studying my body. He reaches my front again and looks me in the eye, and heaves a big sigh. "Well, you're decent. Put that on and we'll get to know each other over lunch." He smiles and I can't help but notice his teeth are sharp and pointed. "I believe in working with a friend."

I hold back a shiver as I put on my robe again. "So do I," I say as calmly as I can manage.

We take a seat in next door. Ossian presses a button from a small box next to him and the table in front of us opens up. Out comes piles of food, lots of fruits and food from food-bearing trees. The table closes again, leaving the impressive display of gourmet delicacies on top. I narrow my eyes. So this is where all the harvest goes. This is what all the back-breaking labor in the sun amounts to. A platter of fine foods, but only the best. This is all the Capitol citizens have to do to get an incredible meal — press a button. At home we slave away for other people's benefit just to get measly scraps. Like we're dogs.

Ossian smirks at my scrutinizing glare. "Bon appétit," he says, gesturing for me to start. Well, can't let all this hard work go to waste... I grab a handful of various fruits and empty them onto my lap.

Ossian laughs, his gravelly voice sounding like a wolf snarl. "No one will eat this but us, Rue," he says. "There's no need to hoard it all."

I don't reply, grabbing an apple and biting a huge chunk out of it. The sweet flavor floods my mouth. "Mm," I hum happily, chewing furiously.

Ossian selects a single grape and eats it slowly. When he's finished, he laces his fingers together in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes run over my body and he pouts. "If only you weren't so thin," he sighs. "You could have been something amazing."

All my food goes into your stomach, I think. I shrug and take another great bite from my apple. If I just keep eating, I won't have to talk with this terrifying wolf-man.

"I've decided to use your size to our advantage. We're going to have you portrayed as a delicate sort of girl, one who can easily be overlooked. Then you'll come out fighting, won't you?" He cocks his head in a way that suggests if I don't come out fighting he'll ensure my death. I nod, my head bobbing like a pigeon's. I've eaten about a half of my apple in just two mouthfuls. I take another bite.

"You'll work with your mentor about how you'll act, but I was thinking... District 11, the district of agriculture. Agriculture equals plants. So I thought, what better to do than to make our flower a flower? You're going to be a beautiful blossom, Rue. I hope you like it," Ossian says. I nod again, eating the rest of my apple, leaving nothing left. I even eat the seeds and the core. I stuff five grapes into my mouth and munch on them.

"So, how do you like the Capitol so far, Rue?" Ossian enquires conversationally. I don't like it how he's always using my name.

I swallow my mouthful and cram more grapes in, shrugging.

"Don't fill up," Ossian warns, picking up a blood-red fruit about the size of a grape. A cherry, I think it is. "There's still the main course to come." He bites the cherry in half with his wolfish teeth, revealing its deep red centre. The juice stains his lips and dribbles down his chin. He takes a napkin at dabs at the cherry juice. I ignore the fact that the juice on his lips and chin looks like blood.

More grapes in my mouth.

"Excuse me, I'm a particularly unattractive eater. I usually don't eat fruit," Ossian says. "I prefer meat." He smiles scarily. "Rare."

I don't know what rare means but it sounds like 'raw'. So I'll just go with that.

He pops the rest of the cherry in his mouth then spits out the pit into his napkin.

What he said before bothers me. What does he mean this is only entrée? Aren't we going to eat all of it? What'll happen to the rest of it? All that hard work from the starving people at home, at District Eleven, just being chucked out by the Capitol? This makes me angry and I have to smother my rage because Ossian is talking to me again.

"I've heard that you very much enjoy the food here. Apparently you eat it with much gusto. I thought to myself, how could one so petite eat so much? I was proven wrong. Do you like the fruit?" he asks. No one has ever called me 'petite' before. Small, short, thin, slender and slight are all words that have been used to describe me. But never petite.

I nod. I very much like the fruit. Ossian narrows his eyes like a wolf stalking its prey. "A little bird told me you were also very talkative, yet to me you've spoken barely a couple of words, only one of which wasn't nervous babble. Tell me, Rue — what's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

I don't answer. What should I say? 'I think you're a creep'? 'I want to go home'?

I toss the grape stalks back onto the table and grab a bowl of cut up watermelon from my hoard on my lap, shoving two pieces in my cheeks and chewing. I put on an apologetic face and point to my mouth and my fruit on my lap.

"Hungry, aren't we?" Ossian says. "Main course is here."

People in white suits come and take the fruit platter away. I reach out for it but Ossian dismisses them with a wave of his hand. A thought strikes me and I swallow my watermelon. "Why don't they talk?"

"They're Avoxes, of course. Law-breakers who are servants to us. They've had their tongues cut out so they can't speak," Ossian replies as I'd this is a totally normal and rational thing. Food going to waste? People whose tongues have been cut out?

I nibble on another piece of watermelon nervously. This is all freaking me out.

The table opens up again and out comes a hearty, steaming-hot soup. Chunks of tender meat bob around in it, accompanied by many vegetables. An Avox comes in silently, serves Ossian and me a bowl of soup each, and leaves again.

I sit there for a moment, deciding whether to use my cupped hands to eat use the annoying spoon thing. I pick up the spoon and stare at my reflection, which is upside down. I turn the spoon to make my reflection the right way up, but there it is, upside down again. I sigh frustratedly and grasp the spoon handle awkwardly, dipping it into the soup and scooping some out. I bring it very slowly to my mouth, worried that the contents of the spoon will spill all over me. I open my lips wide and insert the spoon. Ah, hot! It's too hot! I swallow it as fast as my body will allow me. The soup burns my mouth and scorches my throat on the way down. I grab a glass of water, which came with the soup from the table, and chug it. Ossian smirks. "Quite warm, isn't it?" he says in a way that sounds like it's meant to be mean.

I don't really want my soup anymore and a guilty feeling settles into my stomach. People in other districts slaved away to provide this meal for us, and I have one spoonful. Only one. Ossian was right, I shouldn't have filled up on fruit.

Guilt setting in more heavily, I push the bowl aside. "I don't feel like soup right now," I mutter.

Ossian lowers his head. "As you wish. Shall we go?"

I shake my head and point to his bowl of soup. "Oh, I can eat after you get your outfit on," he scoffs, waving his paw-like hand dismissively. He clicks his fingers and a couple of Axoves all but materialize by his side and take the soup away.

A few excruciatingly boring hours later, I'm staring at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. A headpiece sits on my head — a dark pastel green band with vibrant yellow petal-like shapes running the length of it. My eyes are traced in bright, sparkly yellow eyeliner, with elaborate, detailed flowery patterns swirling around them and glitter is applied to my cheekbones. My lips are painted yellow as well, which contrasts greatly with my District 11 skin colour. On my feet are ballet flats the same colour as my band on my headpiece. My fingernails are green also, with yellow spiraling patterns on them.

My dress is incredible. I'm wearing a green unitard which is V-neck and goes from my elbows to my ankles. It's underneath a light material dress which gives the impression I have leaves sprouting off me. In short, I look like a dandelion swaying in the breeze.

"Whoa," I breathe, twisting my body around to see the back of me.

"I know," Ossian purrs. "Amazing, isn't it?"

I frown at his big-headedness but I have to admit it is. "It's definitely the fanciest and most expensive thing I've ever worn," I say. I can't pull my eyes away from my reflection. I'm not vain, but the dandelion in the mirror doesn't even look like me.

"How will people know it's me?" I ask Ossian.

"Simple. You're the youngest tribute, the smallest, and you're the only girl from District 11. It's a no-brainer, really," Ossian says offhandedly. "Now get ready to rumble!"


	5. Chapter 5: Clearly Outdone

**Hey guys. I just want to say I am _so happy _with all the support I've been getting - _far _much more than I expected for my first fanfic. THANK YOU ALL! You have no idea how much it means to me 3 :). I must be the happiest year eight girl in the world! So, unfortunately this is the shortest chapter to date, but that's the way it had to be, I'm afraid. I'll try harder to make my chapters longer, I promise. Keep reviewing! Oh, and, for those Thresh-lovers out there (yes, I'm talkin' to you, FourNoteMelody), don't be put out by Thresh's attitude towards Rue. It will all be explained soon-ish, I swear on my mockingjay badge.**

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I follow Ossian down to the bottom level of the Remake Centre, where we meet up with Thresh and his stylist who, to my relief, is just as mad as mine. Thresh is in a strange outfit that I can't quite place. Is he a gardener or the garden itself? I can't make it out.

We're loaded onto our carriage, which is golden-brown in color. Not very attractive. I glance at the horses who will be towing us, and wonder why there are no riders to direct them. There never are. The poor things must be trained so hard they know the route without even thinking about it.

I shuffle away from Thresh so I'm as far away from his imposing self as possible. I start in shock as music suddenly blares out from speakers and a massive crowd outside roars. District 1 must be coming out.

I glance behind me and there's Katniss and that blonde boy! In the flesh! The girl who put herself up for murder in the place of her sister. That girl from District Twelve has earned my respect and my admiration. Which is bad, I think. She could be the one to kill you.

District Nine is rolling out on their carriage so I prepare myself for show.

"Smile, Rue," Ossian says in his creepy Capitol growl. I give him a fleeting one and stare back at the District 12 carriage. Where are their stylists? Their costumes are OK, I suppose. They look like fire. District 12 — coal mining... Fire works along those lines.

The carriage underneath me begins to move and I almost fall over, clutching the side of the carriage. Oh, there are the stylists for Katniss and that boy. What was his name? Percy? No, Peeta! The stylists are holding strange canisters. I whip my head around to the front just in time. There's a spark behind me and a light, then another, but I ignore it. Because in front of me is the scariest thing I've seen so far in my life.

The crowd is immense. Maybe as big as District Eleven, and much more decorative. Lights are everywhere and noise fills my ears and my mind. Every single person is screaming and reaching out to us. I grin as widely as I can and hold up both of my arms, waving insanely. "Rue!" I hear some people cry. I yell out, "I love you!" But really I hate them. They're eager for my death. How can anyone love someone who wishes for a child's murder? I sneak a glance at the large TV screen and see us. I resist rolling my eyes when I see Thresh isn't smiling or waving or even looking at the crowd; he's just staring straight ahead. I'm feeling light-headed with fear and shock but I do my best do smother it.

Then the screams erupt to an impossibly loud volume and the sound warps in my ears. Still waving, I shoot a peek over my shoulder. Katniss! I don't know whether to be amazed or distraught. Oh, she's stolen everyone's attention! The girl is _on fire_! And so it Peeta! Katniss is waving and blowing kisses too, with a dazzling smile on her pretty much makeup-less face. Almost no makeup at all. And she's... she's _holding hands with Peeta_? What on earth gave them that idea? I know they must be nervous, but just grip the sides of the carriage or something! Jeez!

I have to tear my gaze away to keep up the act that I'm better than everyone else, but I have to hold back tears. Now I'll never have a faint chance to win! But Katniss really is incredible-looking, and everyone seems to think so too. I keep staring at the screen, which is entirely trained on them.

We travel past houses of the highest-ranked Panem citizens and pull up in front of President Snow's mansion itself, the music ending dramatically. The small, wispy-haired president makes his speech, and District 12 is mostly on the screen, especially as it begins to darken. I don't think a single eye was on anything but them. I know mine weren't.

President Snow ends his speech and the tributes parade around the City Circle once more, Katniss and Peeta hogging the cameras, then enter the Training Centre. The doors slide closed and our prep team hurries over. They praise us quickly and begin to babble on about how amazing Cinna and Portia are. Who're they? I realize, after hearing some sane words amongst the monkey-like chatter, that they're the District Twelve stylists. Well played, I think.

My eyes are glued to Katniss, whose flaming cape and headdress are being extinguished by a pair of sensible-looking people. I wonder who they are. One is a man, not very old, with short brown hair and gold eyeliner and plain black clothes and a woman is with him. They are the most normal-looking Capitol citizens I've seen.

Katniss' prep team has literally coated her like jam on toast, bursting out bubbling praise. And there's that cheery, annoying escort. Katniss looks around at the other tributes, who are unloading just as they are, and from her triumphant and relieved smile, I guess she's taking some pretty jealous scowls. But all I feel is awe. Katniss must really know what she's doing. She seems so confident, so together. She's above all brave almost to the point of insanity. Then it hits me: she must look confident for a reason. Maybe she hunts back at District 12. There are scars all over her, that anyone can easily see, and she walks in a way that suggests she's on the prowl for game.

I swallow. I hope I'm not that game soon.

"Rue," a voice pipes. I look down from my place to see Aurelius smiling up at me and Thresh on the ground with our prep team and I'm still clutching the sides of the carriage and gawping after District Twelve. I unglue my fingers and warily step down, still staring at Katniss. She's talking to Peeta and rubbing her hand, smiling. Peeta returns the smile and his is full of warmth and... and something else I can't quite place.

"Rue, honey," Aurelius says, resting his fingers on my shoulder. I automatically flinch away from his unfamiliar touch. I turn away to leave, but not before I see Katniss, the girl who was on fire, reach up on her tiptoes and peck Peeta on the cheek.


	6. Chapter 6: Being a Kid

**Author's Note (sorry, I've been forgetting to write that at the beginning...): Hey, guys. Me again: the irritating little voice before the new chapter of Deep in the Meadow. I just wanted to say that I'll upload the chapters as fast as I can; I've actually written almost fourteen chapters, but I don't get around to actually transferring them from my iPod to my computer, then uploading them. I don't mind, in fact I encourage, gentle reminders to GET THAT NEXT CHAPTER UP, YOU LAZY DOG! You know, that sort of thing. Anyway. Wow, I just realised how short my chapters are compared to other fanfics. Yeah, sorry about that. They seem a lot longer on my iPod.**

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We ride up the elevator of the Training Centre. It's the second time I've been in an elevator, the first being yesterday in the Justice Building at home. My stomach drops as I watch through the glass walls the ground grow further and further away.

I hurry off when we reach our level and Aurelius guides us to our rooms. Everyone peels away to go their own ways and Aurelius opens a door leading to a massive room bigger than my entire house. "So, is my room through here?" I ask, stepping inside. Aurelius laughs. "Oh, you're so cute. This is your room, honey."

"What?" I gasp, looking around. Yes, there's a gigantic bed, and my own bathroom over there, and a closet bigger than my bed at home against the wall there. Aurelius says goodbye. "Dinner will be ready soon," he says, and closes the door with a soft click.

I undress and have a shower, pressing all the buttons again. Thankfully my makeup gets blasted off in the process. I insert my hands into a box jutting out and I feel a whooshing sensation. When I take my hands out the nail polish is completely gone.

I step out of the shower and instead of pressing buttons to insta-dry myself I place my hand on another box. A current ripples through my hair and a wave of hot air slams into me. I'm dry.

I put on the bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and face my next dilemma — the towering wardrobe. I open it and after some experimentation, discover that I have to program the closet to get I the clothes I want. I put the clothes on and close the closet doors.

I wander over to the window, which is a wall itself. I press my hand on the glass to get closer and the view zooms in on the place where I put my hand. I jump back in surprise, then reach up and tap another spot. It shifts to there. This looks strange and unnatural and it makes me feel queasy so I leave that alone. I mosey out of my room and into another. There's a microphone and menus. Food!

I choose my snack and speak it into the microphone. Less than a minute later, it slides down a chute and onto the counter. My favourite: wild berries.

I pick up the small bowl of berries and circle the room slowly, eating each wild berry carefully and slowly, chewing each one twenty times before swallowing. The taste reminds me of home, of noisy dinner times with my family. At the end of every three weeks Mom would go out and buy a handful of wild berries. She'd let us have one berry each every day. Once I caught Daisy eating more, when I couldn't sleep and so got up to walk around and calm my mind. She was on a homemade stool, reaching up into the cupboards. In her other hand already was a berry and she was just popping this into her gob when I saw her. She quickly swallowed it so I marched her up to Mom, woke everyone up, and told Mom what I saw. I was so angry. Mom was too, and scolded her badly, and banned her from the berries for the next two days, which made Daisy cry, but no one ever did it again.

Aurelius pokes his head in. "Ah, there you are! I thought I might find you here. It's dinner time, so stop nibbling."

I'm on my last five berries anyway, so I tip them into my mouth and hurry out to join Aurelius. We walk together to the dining compartment and I decide that Aurelius, under all that bossiness and pompousness, isn't actually as bad as I initially thought. Great, another buddy to watch me get tossed into the arena for slaughter.

We enter the compartment and sit down for dinner. Much to my dismay the stylists and prep team have joined us. Dinner is beef sliced paper-thin with a creamy mushroom sauce. Tart vegetables that can be sweetened by a honey-like dip. And wine and water. I'm offered wine but I refuse. Alcohol for a twelve-year-old? Not exactly a smart idea.

I begin to eat as I usually do, fast and furious, but Aurelius' voice stops me. "Mm-K, Rue, Thresh, you have to listen to George and Adriana now."

My fork stops half-way through the air on the way to my open mouth. I look to the mentors.

"This time is usually used for strategizing," George begins. "Or the morning. But we think now would be best."

"But—" I cut in. What about dinner?

Adriana interrupts me. "Rue, don't worry, we're still going to eat," she assures me with a chuckle. The rest of the table joins in. I humph and shove the fork in my mouth.

"George and I have listened to you, and we've thought about what tactics you both should take according to your skills. But you can talk about that one-on-one with us. The main strategies we've come to discuss are about tomorrow and in the arena," Adriana explains. George takes over.

"We think you should practice your skills in the Training Centre tomorrow to a certain degree. Don't go flaunting your abilities and show off your strengths. Keep them hidden for the Gamemakers. But practice them a bit; that's always a good idea."

"What's also a good idea is learn things," Adriana interjects. "If you don't know how to make traps, learn. If you have no idea how to battle with a knife, learn. Got it?"

I nod and to my surprise so does Thresh, a slight incline of his head.

"And just ask questions. If you want to ask us something, don't hold back. Before you know it, it could be too late," Adriana says. She smiles and sighs. "Now, with that out of the way, let's enjoy our meal."

Everyone begins to eat, but for the first time since the reaping I've lost my appetite. I push the meat around my plate with my fork, occasionally forcing down a mouthful.

"Are you OK, honey?" Aurelius asks me. Oh, I'm fine, I want to say. I just have butterflies in my stomach about being sent to my death. No biggie.

"I'm just nervous," I say with an uneasy laugh. "About — about the interviews. I'm not good with crowds." I was going to say 'about the Games', but I didn't think that would bode well so I backed out.

"Oh, don't worry, honey," Aurelius coos. "Whatever you say, it'll be the right thing. It's impossible not to love you!"

Ugh. I don't want strangers to love me. Then I realize I do — I want sponsors, don't I? That means I have to get horrible people to like me. Which means I have to pretend to like them. Ugh.

Maybe if I'm more like Katniss, then I may have a chance. I've only ever seen her in person once, and she has an aura about her that's so powerful and strong it's magnetic.

I could never be that awesome. The best I can pull off is 'cute'.

"So, Katniss and Peeta, huh?" I say conversationally. "They put on quite a show."

Thresh grumbles, put out about being outdone.

"Oh, they were magnificent," Aurelius gushes. "Their stylists are miracle makers! And holding hands? Never done before! I don't think anyone will ever forget them for as long as they live."

Thresh growls.

"It's a bit risky, with the closeness of them, don't you think?" Adriana says.

"What they're told to do and what they feel are entirely different matters," Ossian says airily in his Capitol-style wolf-growl voice.

"Peeta smiled at Katniss," I add quietly. "He looked like he didn't mind holding her hand a bit."

"Oo! Juicy gossip!" Aurelius gasps. He leans in closer to me. "What else did you see?"

"Nothing," I defensively, thinking about the kiss on the cheek Katniss gave Peeta. "It's not my business." Meaning it's none of your business.

Aurelius sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. "Whatever," he says. "What Adriana said about risks of being close intrigues me. Maybe there might be a little romance brewing? That's sounds exciting!"

"I didn't mean that," Adriana says. "I meant it's risky because it's rebellious."

The table falls silent and everyone stares at Adriana. It's dangerous discussing rebellion. "Think about it," she says quickly. "Why are they close when they're supposed to be fighting one another? It doesn't make sense."

Aurelius laughs. "Oh, you had me scared for a moment there, Adriana. But really, that's ridiculous. This is District Twelve we're talking about here. They aren't exactly the smartest district, or the bravest. Nothing like Two. And they don't even have any fighting skills." He whispers, "They don't even start working till they're eighteen! It's a waste!" He straightens up and announces loudly, "They're just dead weight chucked into the corner of the room, of you get what I mean."

"I dare to say that to their faces," I snap. It's not fair what he's saying, bagging out District 12. I bet there're some great people there, mentally and physically strong people like Katniss. Haymitch won, right? I wonder how. Aurelius is right about one thing, though: they don't have any fighting skills. They're always hopeless in the Games. Is it really true they don't begin to work until they're too old to enter the Hunger Games? That's unfair to them. Like throwing a mockingjay chick from its nest before it knows how to fly. It'll fall, no matter how hard it tries to stay airborne, and die.

I keep out of the rest of the conversations; they're just mindless Capitol gossip anyway. I eat my dinner, not because I'm hungry but for something to do. When everyone's finished, Aurelius kicks Thresh and me out. "Time for the grown-ups to have a chat," he says superiorly. I scowl. 'Grown-ups'? What are we, five?

I walk out after Thresh and into my house-sized room. Great. Now I don't have anything to do, I'll probably end up thinking about the Games and scaring myself silly. I could... entertain myself like a little kid. Play imaginary games with invisible fairies and things. It may be the last opportunity I have to be a little kid again.

So I do.


	7. Chapter 7: Homesick

**Author's Note: I hope you don't think I'm dragging the pre-Games on a bit. Let me know if you think I am. Don't forget to let me know if I've gotten absolutely anything wrong in Deep in the Meadow - spelling, grammar, missed a fullstop, something doesn't match the original 'The Hunger Games'; anything. I know there are a lot of Hunger Games fanfics out there, and a lot of Rue's POV of the Hunger Games, and even more of just her death, and I wanted to say, yet again, how much I love you guys for deciding to read mine. If you like it, pass it on to your friends! Wait, that sounds selfish and stupid. Never mind.**

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Adriana finds me running around the room with my arms held out like a mockingjay in flight a few hours later. "Come on, Lilly! Fly faster, or Dr. Evil will take over the village!" I yell over my shoulder to the invisible fairy behind me. I named all the fairies after my family. Dr. Evil is President Snow.

"Rue, what are you doing?" Adriana asks, looking baffled.

I slow down to a stop and stand there, puffing. "Being a kid. Just one more time. Y'know, before I die."

Adriana covers her hand with her mouth and turns her head away. I think she's trying not to cry. She looks back after a few moments. "Who's Lilly?"

"Well, these are my fairy friends. Lilly, Daisy, Annabelle, Joy, Rose, Opal, meet Adriana. Adriana, meet the fairies." I blush. "Uh, I mean, um... Lilly, Daisy, Annabelle, Joy and Rose are my sisters. Back home. In real life. And Opal's my mom's name."

Adriana gives me a wobbly smile, her eyes moist. "I was coming to get you to see the recaps of the parade, but I think you should keep playing," she whispers.

I don't answer.

"I mean, you were there at the actual parade, right? There's no point in seeing it again," Adriana adds.

"No," I agree softly. I sit down. "I—I guess I want to stay here."

But all the imagination has been sapped out of me and I end up just staring at the floor.

Adriana sits down beside me. "Hey," she says softly, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and hugging me. "Hey, be happy. While you can. Don't think about what may or may not happen in a few days."

I don't realise I'm crying until I sniff and wipe my eyes. "Mom always said if I have music in my heart, nothing can bring me down."

Adriana smiles. "Your mother sounds like a wise woman."

I laugh once. "She is. Bringing up six kids must teach you a few things."

Adriana hands me a tissue and I wipe my eyes.

"So what's your favorite song?" Adriana asks.

"I don't know. Most music I hear is just made up as they go along. But my favorite thing is this," I reply, and sing to her my four-note melody. She smiles.

"You must be the little messenger up top," she says. I half-smile and nod. "I've heard a lot of stories about you. All good, might I add."

"I miss my mockingjays," I murmur, staring at the screwed-up tissue in my hands.

"Did you give them names?"

I chuckle. "No, I never thought to." And now I never will.

Adriana crosses her legs. "You know, I used to work up the top too, before I was chosen at the reaping."

I raise my eyebrows and look at her. "Really?"

"Yeah. I had little buddies of my own up there, same as you. In fact, they might even be the same birds."

"Did you have a signal? That you passed onto the mockingjays so they could tell everyone else?" I ask, curious. For as long as I can remember I've been the one to let everyone knows it's home time, but of course there have been others before me.

"Yes, I did," Adriana says. She opens her mouth and sings a tune much simpler than mine, only two notes and about two seconds long. "Seems to have been phased out over the years."

I grin sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, I like yours much better," Adriana says, waving her hand dismissively. "It's much nicer than mine. Did you make it up?"

"Yeah. Me and my dad, before he disappeared," I reply, my voice trailing away on the word 'disappeared'.

"Your dad's gone?" Adriana asks, shocked.

I sigh and run my hands down my legs insecurely. I knead my temple and let my hand drop with a loud smack on my thigh. "Yep. Ran away when Daisy came along. He wanted a son so bad, and when the sixth daughter came along, I guess he wanted to clear out and find another woman who could give him what he wants."

Adriana rubs my arm. "Was he nice otherwise?"

"I suppose so. Never saw him much; he was always out drinking and I was working — you know. That sort of thing. Common around where I live. A whole lot of single moms there." I fall silent for a while. "Dad... he loved music. And so does Mom. I think that's why they fell for each other. Dad could play any instrument you threw at him. He had this family heirloom, a guitar. He played songs every night, by the fireplace, most if the time just making it up as he went along. My favourite thing was when he told stories as songs. He sang a little bit, but Mom did most of the singing. She sang and danced with all of us as he played and added some backup voice. Those are some of the best memories I have." I smile as I reminisce. It could have been last night we gathered around the fire. I have to admit the best times were when I was tiny, before Mom was even pregnant with Rose. Then, with each of my sisters that came along, Dad became more and more unhappy, beginning to drink, never show up to work and never come home at night, then one morning I woke up to find Mom alone in bed and all his things gone. That was one of the roughest times. We pulled through reasonably well, I guess, for a struggling family of seven. Mom was a mess. I don't think she could decide whether she was sad and depressed or furious and frustrated. She seemed to be all four at once.

I shake myself from my daydream and glance at Adriana. "So yeah," I breathe. "There's my boring life story."

"It's not boring," Adriana says. "Just overlooked, mostly. When did your dad leave, exactly?"

"The night he found out his new baby was a girl."

"You don't seem too upset talking of him," Adriana notes. I shrug.

"In the end he let us down; all of us. Why should I be sad about a man like that leaving just because he has daughters instead of sons? We're still half him, kind of." I divert the conversation — it's too painful to discuss my family now. "So what about you? I bet you have some interesting stories to tell."

"Interesting and too difficult for me to say," she says with a forced smile. "Come on, let's see if the recaps are still on." She stands and holds out her hand. I take it and she hoists me to my feet to hard I'm pulled half a foot in the air. "You're light," Adriana comments as I straighten my shirt.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," I mutter.

"Sorry."

"That's OK."

We walk together to the lounge room. "What's going on?" Adriana asks as we enter.

"Where have you been?" Aurelius squawks. "You've missed the whole thing!"

"We've already seen it, so we thought we'd have a chat instead," Adriana says calmly, sitting down next to him. I sit on a different couch. Thresh glances at me then back to the TV. The recaps are just rounding off, with the commentators chatting enthusiastically about District 12. I think about the last recap — of the reapings — when they were writing them off as ridiculous and loopy. Then the seal of the Capitol shows, and the recaps are over.

"You two must hate those two kids from Twelve for stealing all the attention," Ossian remarks.

Thresh grunts in reply. "Well, I don't," I say defensively. "Katniss seems to have a good head on her shoulders."

"What about Peeta?" Aurelius asks.

I hesitate. "Not so sure about him," I say slowly. "Seems a bit... I don't know, dazed. Like he's daydreaming the whole time."

"I have to disagree with you there," George pipes up. "He looks like he knows what he's doing. Must be creative. I used to be like that."

"Yeah, I get you, but..." I sigh and throw my hands up in the air. "He's probably fine. I can't think of how to describe it. He's just a bit off to me. The way he smiles isn't right. It's too nice. He's too nice to be in the Games. He looks like he'd rather ki– hug Katniss than kill her. Which is bad." I was going to say _kiss _but something stopped me.

"Maybe not," Aurelius muses.

"Yeah, it's bad. For him. 'Cause Katniss, to me, looks like the sort of person who'll kill anyone if it means she can survive. That's what tributes need to be. Not happy, nice..." I struggle with words, "gentle people."

"Like you," George offers quite unhelpfully.

I dodge his comment. "We aren't here to talk about me right now. We're talking about the District Twelve tributes."

"So you're saying Peeta'll be dead in the first day?" Adriana suggests.

"Yes!" I sigh, thankful someone's got it. "He'll be the one to hesitate, then he'll be dead. Katniss won't hesitate. I can tell."

"Which means if she gets a hold of you, she won't hesitate to kill you," Adriana says bluntly.

I droop a little. "Yeah. That's what it means." I perk up as an idea hits me. "But not if she's my ally!"


	8. Chapter 8: Strategy

**Please don't kill me. This is short. I'll post another chapter tomorrow, I swear. Chapter nine is quite long, I think. Anyway, sorry for the irritatingly short chapter, and thanks for reading!**

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"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Aurelius says, waving his arms in front of him. "Slow down a bit. I'm still on the fact that Katniss is a cold-hearted killer."

"She's not," I shout.

"Aurelius, stay out of this. I'm her mentor," Adriana says. "Let me talk to her."

Adriana sets a firm arm around my shoulders and guides me to the dining room. She takes a seat and invites me to do the same. I drop into a chair.

"Let's get our facts straight," Adriana begins with a frown.

"One," I say, sticking up my index finger, "I want Katniss as my ally. Two, that's risky because she I'm ninety-nine percent sure she wouldn't hesitate to kill me if she doesn't like me."

Adriana nods thoughtfully. "Before we discuss those things, is there anything further you'd like to add?"

I look down at my hands on the table. "Well, yeah, but it doesn't matter."

"Rue, you have to be open with me, otherwise I mightn't be able to help you," Adriana says gently.

"I don't want to get Katniss into trouble," I mumble.

Adriana sighs. "How about we get some fresh air and think about this, hm?"

I give her a puzzled look.

"Just trust me," she says.

"All right," I mutter unsurely as I follow her out of the room, to the end of a hallway, through a door and up a few flights of stairs.

"Oh," I breathe as we walk onto the roof of the building. It's amazing. There're lights everywhere, like the sky at home on a cloudless sky but multicolored. It's noisy as well. Horns of cars blaring, people shouting and screaming, the rumble and roar of engines, the thumping of music. Not nice music — music that makes your insides vibrate like jelly and makes you half-deaf for a while if you get too close. I didn't hear a lot of that music at District Eleven, but on the occasion the mayor would blast it out of his house during one of his parties where everyone would be roaring drunk. Like I said, not nice music.

I amble up to the edge of the roof and lean against the railing, leaning far over to get a better look. "Ow!" I yelp, jumping back as volts of electricity zap through me via my forehead. I knead my brow, frowning. "Ow," I mumble again. "What was that?"

"Forcefield," Adriana says, joining me at the railing. "Keeps tributes from committing suicide. You know, jumping off the roof and falling to their deaths."

"Have tributes done that in the past?" I ask. The idea doesn't seem too repulsive when compared to the thought of the Games.

"No," Adriana replies. "But can't have it happening anyhow."

"Nope," I agree. "Then they'd have to go to the trouble of getting another one."

"Or they could just chuck the other tribute in on their own," Adriana suggests grimly. I make a face. "So what was it you wanted to say? About Katniss? There aren't any surveillance cameras or listening devices up here."

"Katniss hunts illegally, I'm sure of it," I say firmly. "That's why I think she'd be a great ally."

"How can you tell she hunts?" Adriana asks.

"Can't you see it in the way she walks? The way she moves? She's always looking around. Didn't you notice?"

"I must admit I haven't. You've done some thorough research, eh?" Adriana says.

"I just notice things. Keep mental notes, I guess, subconsciously." I shrug.

"That's good. Better than you think," Adriana says with a nod. "It could help you out there."

"I don't see how," I grumble. "Remembering where a rock isn't going to feed me."

"But remembering where a fruit tree is, or a lake, will feed you and water you," Adriana counters. "You underestimate yourself too much; have a little faith."

I take a deep breath. "You're right. You're right. I'm going to get myself killed if I keep putting myself down. So — weird, kind-of-photographic memory thing is good. Now, about Katniss. She has the same look as a Peacekeeper does, don't you agree? Kind of dangerous."

Adriana shrugs. "You really think you should be her ally?"

I nod. "I do. I really do."

"Well, I guess I have to trust your judgment. But," she says, holding up her finger as I grin happily. "But you have to keep an eye on her tomorrow. Maybe keep close to her. Go to the same stations as her _sometimes_; check out what she's focusing her skills on. I'll get to know her escort a bit, see what they're aiming for. Not so sure about her mentor, though."

I pull a face. "I hope he's laying off the alcohol, for Katniss and Peeta's sake."

"Who knows? He may be totally sober."

"Or totally drunk," I add.

"Hm," Adriana hums, pursing her lips. "Anyway. Do we have a plan?"

I nod. "Yep."

We shake hands to seal the deal. "Don't let yourself down here, Rue," Adriana warns. "If something looks fishy about Katniss, don't get involved. Get out of there. Understand?"

"OK." But I know nothing will go wrong. I'm two hundred percent sure that Katniss is as trustworthy as I think she is. Whether she's trust_ing_, on the other hand, is another matter. I yawn.

"Come on, it's late. Can't have you tired tomorrow," Adriana says. She puts her arm around my shoulders and steers me down the stairs and to my bedroom.

"'Night, Adriana," I mumble, rubbing my eye with the back of my hand.

"Sweet dreams," Adriana replies softly, like Mom always said, which tightens my throat.

She walks away and I close the door. After changing into my pajamas I slide into bed, feeling slightly more confident. Here I come, Katniss Everdeen. Watch out for Rue Bayley.


	9. Chapter 9: I Watch the Girl on Fire

**Authour's Note: As promised, here's chapter nine. I hope you like it. Note to Thresh-fans reading - this one of the two chapters where Thresh explains his actions. The second one will come later!**

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The next morning when I wake up it's already very bright outside. "Oh!" I gasp, climbing out of bed quickly. I remember I have a clock next to my bed and oh, thank goodness, it's only eight thirty. Training doesn't start till ten. I have a shower and get dressed. On the way to breakfast I run into Thresh.

"Did you sleep in too?" I ask, tying my hair into a low ponytail as I walk. He shrugs in reply. "Well, yesterday you got up early. Was that really early for you or normal?"

Thresh pulls up to an abrupt stop and grabs my arm. "Ouch," I yelp. "What're you doing? Let go."

Thresh bends down to look at me full in the face. "Why are you doing this?" he hisses.

"Doing what?" I mutter, still tugging on my arm, not looking him in the eye, instead at his big hand wrapped easily around my skinny arm.

"Being nice. Talking. Being happy. Don't do that to me, little girl. Don't do that to yourself."

My eyes move to my feet. "I—I..."

"I don't want to be your friend. Stay away. You're making something difficult that shouldn't be," he says gruffly, shaking me to emphasize his words.

"Killing other people shouldn't be easy," I say, hurt in both ways.

"I meant trying to ignore you. You are making it so hard not to like you, to want to protect you and be your friend. I can't have that. Maybe in District 11 but not here where I could be the one who has to kill you. Please, little girl. Leave me alone."

I've never heard him say so much before and for a moment I have no words to reply. So I just nod. "OK. I'll stay away from you. I'm sorry."

Thresh lets me go, pauses, and turns around to face me again. "Just be safe, OK?" he says gently, genuine care in his eyes. I nod. He straightens up, spins around and lumbers into the dining room in his typically silent way. I rub my arm and follow him in.

"Why so glum, chum?" Aurelius grins as I take a seat. They've almost finished breakfast.

"Bad dream," I mutter.

"You aren't tired, are you?" Adriana asks guiltily.

"No." I steal a stray sausage from Aurelius' plate and bite off the end.

"Hey! I was going to eat that," he cries indignantly. "If you want food go get it yourself." He points behind him to a long line of tables filled with all sorts of different foods. "It's a buffet. Serve yourself," he grumbles.

I get up, grab a plate and serve myself a little bit of every dish. I set that on the table and get myself a drink, mixing all the juices on offer together in one glass.

"Orange, apple, watermelon, pineapple, carrot, pear, tropical, breakfast, strawberry and apple, apple and cranberry, cranberry, mango, mango and orange..." I mutter as I tip a little of each juice in. There's so many and I have to get two glasses. With that done, I settle back into my chair.

Aurelius looks at me with wide eyes. "How many juices are in there?"

"All of them. Well, half in here and half in here," I reply, pointing to the glasses.

Aurelius screws up his nose. "Ew." Honestly, I wonder about what goes on inside his head. That's something Daisy would say, not what I would expect a full-grown male District escort to say.

I take a swig at my first cup. "Wow-za!" I gasp, shaking my head. "Overload!" There are so many different flavors it's inconceivable. I try the other one, with similar results. I tuck into my big breakfast.

George laughs. "I'll never get used to that," he confesses.

"Get used to what?" I ask when I've finished my mouthful.

"The fact that you can eat so much so quickly and not get sick afterwards."

I shrug. "I have a lot of room in my belly after not eating for so long."

That shut him up. He sets his knife and fork together on his plate and leans back in his chair. "Got everything sorted?" he asks Adriana.

"Sure do." She pauses. "Pretty much."

"Well, me and my buddy over here know exactly how today's gonna play out," he smirks, gesturing grandly to Thresh. I open my mouth to correct him that it's not me and my buddy but my buddy and I, just to annoy him, but I snap my mouth shut. Thresh gives George the evil eye and continues eating. George pretends not to notice it. "You ready, Rue?" he asks excitedly.

I don't reply and shovel a fork-load of egg and bacon on toast in my mouth.

When Thresh and I are done it's quarter past nine.

"Oh, just look at the time!" Aurelius squawks. "You're late, late, late! Come on, chop chop!" He shoos us out. I dash into my room and clean my teeth before having one last quick chat with Adriana before the training.

"You know what's going on?" she asks quietly when I meet her outside my bedroom.

"Follow Katniss around, check out what she's aiming for. Report back to you, then we'll decide whether to try to ally her with me," I recite.

"Good, except for one thing: don't make it too obvious you're spying on her. Don't go to every station she does. OK?"

"Got it," I say with a sharp nod. Adriana checks her watch. "You have a few minutes. Meet Aurelius at the elevator. Go on."

I kind of hop out like a startled bird and make my way to the elevator. Nerves quickly settle in my stomach, popping and fizzing like bubbles in boiling broth, the one Mom used to make when she had the ingredients. I jump up and down on the spot, waiting next to Aurelius for Thresh. When he does, I go to say hi, but then I remember what he said, so I put on a poker-face and nod hello instead. He nods back, his expression equally blank. I start jiggling up and down again, letting my arms flop beside me in an attempt to shake the nerves away. I hate feeling nervous.

I'm jumping up and down as we pile into the elevator. I'm jumping up and down as we ride down, down, down in the elevator. I'm jumping up and down as we unload. I'm jumping up and down as we—

"Rue, can you stand still?" Aurelius sighs irritably.

"Sorry." I stop jumping, but catch myself fidgeting. Toe tapping, arms crossing and uncrossing, eyes darting all around. We're in a gym fit so large I reckon it could be used for the arena itself, with stations of various weapons or plants to identify or obstacle courses or anything you can imagine that would help you in the Games. Pieces of cloth with the number 11 are pinned onto the front of Thresh's and my shirt. I hurriedly scan the tense huddle of tributes in front of me, purposefully ignoring the size of all of them. No, no, no, no... District 12 isn't here yet. I shuffle forward and nose my way into the circle. My eyes find the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman. Atala.

I hear footsteps, easy to hear since no one is talking, and turn around. Yes! There's Katniss and Peeta, walking over. Dressed identically. What are they, twins? I watch as they get their numbers pinned on and hurry over to the circle. As soon as they join it, Atala explains what to do. Join any station, where a master of that skill will teach you or help you hone your skills. We are forbidden to fight another tribute; there are assistants it we want to practice hand-to-hand combat. No thank you.

I study my competition. It's not a very good idea to psyche myself out before the Games even begin, but I should know what I'm up against. Towering, ferocious-looking opponents, mostly. But most of them have that poverty-stricken look — pale faces, thin bodies, a hollow look in their eyes. The Careers are the exception, though. I shudder and find Katniss to begin my close examination. She's quite small for her age, thin too, but not as bony as pretty much all of us are. As if she's had more food on the table. Not a lot more. Just more.

Tick! More proof she hunts.

Atala releases us and I head to the nearest station: wood whittling. I take a seat and pick up a knife. For the next hour or so I struggle with a block of wood, but eventually I carve a half-decent stake out of it. "Not bad for a beginner," the expert praises me.

I feel a bit nervous around the Centre as the Gamemakers are watching us. Decked in majestic purple robes, they waltz around the Training Centre, jotting notes about tributes. Some of them, anyway. Most of them are fixated on the large banquet prepared for them.

I rise to move onto my next choice of station. I look around. Oh, there's Katniss and Peeta, glued to each other's sides — by Haymitch, I bet — moving from the knot-tying station and over to the camouflage station. Peeta grins happily at this. And there's some Gamemakers. I notice at least one of them is staring intently at Katniss, studying her moves.

I think for a while, then hurry over to the knife-throwing station. The expert raises an eyebrow at me, which I ignore. He runs his eyes over my body. "What are you doing?" I snap self-consciously.

"Just seeing which knife would be good for you to practice with," he says. He studies me a moment more before selecting two deadly-looking knives from the assortment. "Try these."

I hesitantly take them. They feel OK, except I'm not sure what 'OK' is supposed to feel like. Not too heavy. "Have you wielded knives before?" the expert enquires.

"Not like this. Just knives to cut up food," I say.

"Ever thrown a knife?"

"No way José. I've got five younger sisters; no way would I chuck a knife with them around most of the time," I reply, raising my eyebrows at the thought of practicing something as dangerous as this with my sisters tugging on my shirt.

"Then let me demonstrate," the expert says smoothly. He picks up a knife and in one quick, fluid motion, sends to knife hurtling towards a target, where it embeds itself in the centre. I keep a straight face. I can't have other tributes see how easily impressed I am. "I hope you can teach me how to do that," I say in a leveled voice.

"Sure I can, if you're willing to learn," the expert counters.

"Then let's start."

I work on knife-throwing for the next hour and a half, then move on to another station. For the rest of the day it's like this and will be the next two days — working or refining a skill for half an hour to and an hour and a half, drifting from station to station, occasionally joining the same ones as the District 12 Siamese twins. Katniss glances up, quickly looking away when she accidentally locks eyes with an onlooking Gamemaker. Everyone's keeping tabs on the girl who was on fire.


	10. Chapter 10: Shadowing

**Authour's Note: I'm sorry if it feels like a while since I've updated - it feels like it's been a while for me! Thanks to all of my readers for sticking by me for this long. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Anything to report?" Adriana asks. We're sitting on my bed. I'm in my pajamas, about to fall to sleep, but Adriana has to check up with me. After my big dinner I'm ready to pass out. The tributes have breakfast and dinner on their floors, and lunch in a big hall on tables. The Careers all cram themselves onto one table and make a ruckus, whereas the rest of us sit alone, feeling abandoned and isolated. But not Katniss and Peeta. No, they have animated conversations, with big smiles and laughs, seeming to be oblivious to the rest of our stares. Like they're the only two people in the world. I saw a few of the Careers approach Thresh at lunch to invite him in but Thresh, in all his wisdom, rejected them. Well, he's gonna have a hard time staying alive now.

I yawn. "Peeta and Katniss are always together. Always. They never go farther than a few inches away from each other."

Adriana looks at me expectantly, waiting for more.

"Uh..." I yawn again. "Katniss is very good with plants. I mean, she passed the plants test thing no problem. She knew them all. The expert guy was real happy with her."

Adriana nods. "Her mother used to own an apothecary and still treats people today."

I look at her. "How do you know that?"

"Word gets around. It's not exactly top-secret information."

But it's Katniss' mother we're talking about here, I want to say. Doesn't Katniss want to keep her family away from the spotlight, like I do? I know in an instant that yes, she does, but that doesn't stop the vultures from gathering personal information.

"Um," I hum. "She — Katniss — looked kind of..." I struggle for a word. "Frightened. Freaked out. By the other tributes."

"Well, she's small for her age and some of those other tributes are monsters. Weren't you scared?" Adriana says.

"Oh, I'm scared to death, but I try not to show it, let alone think about it."

Adriana shrugs. "Well, beats me. Maybe Katniss is a chicken underneath all those flames."

I giggle. "Cooked chicken." Then I frown. "But she isn't. I'll prove it." I stifle yet another yawn. "What did the escort say?"

"The escort for Twelve? Oh, don't get me started." She laughs and shakes her head. "I can't believe that woman. Effie Trinket, her name is. She reminds me of some sort of woodpecker, the way she hops around in her pointy shoes, and her voice is so high! She's not saying a lot, pretty much nothing at all, except for—" she puts on a silly, squeaky Capitol accent; a poor imitation too, "'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns into pearls!' Can you believe it?"

I make a face. "Coal into pearls?"

"Pearls come from oysters. I don't think poor Effie is the sharpest tool in the box." Adriana grimaces. "Poor Katniss and Peeta. A drunk for a mentor and an airhead for an escort."

"But a genius for a stylist," I say. "That's something."

Adriana sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I guess." She puts an arm round my shoulders affectionately. "You're doing so well, Rue. I'm so proud to be your mentor. Keep it up, 'K?"

I smile. "Thanks. I will."

"Now get some sleep, little flower," Adriana says, standing up. My breath catches and I grit my teeth to stop crying. 'Little flower'. Did Adriana use that on purpose? Or just randomly?

I snuggle under the comforter and bury my head into it. Adriana switches off the light. "Sleep tight," she whispers. Then I hear the door click shut.

The next day, second day of training, when Katniss and Peeta are taking their chances at spear throwing, I pause on my way to the shelter-building station. I just watch Katniss aim and throw her spear, fascinated by her strength and grace. I'm about to hurry away to minimize suspicion when Peeta sneaks a glance over his shoulder. He murmurs something to Katniss, something I can't hear over to buzz of voices in the Centre, and she looks right at me.

Oops.

Peeta chucks a spear and whispers something to Katniss. Her brow creases as she picks up another spear, then she snaps something at Peeta. He replies calmly. Katniss' expression is almost upset.

I scamper away, to the climbing station instead, to take my mind off things. I love climbing, and scramble up the net with ease. I do this a few more times then go to another station. After that one, I try my luck at the slingshot station.

"Ever used one before?" the expert asks.

"Once or twice," I admit. I pick up a slingshot hesitantly, load it, take aim, and fire. "Hah! This is easy!" I exclaim, surprised. My shot hit dead-centre. I try a target further away. Pow! In the middle.

"You're gifted," the expert remarks approvingly. "Well done."

"It isn't hard," I say. Aim, fire, bam! Bull's eye. "Oh, I love this! I hope they have slingshots in the arena!" Aim, fire! Aim, fire! Over and over again, I shoot, sending ammo into all sorts of targets. Finally I set down the slingshot. "I think I'm done. Thank you."

"Good luck," the expert says with a big grin on his face. He inclines his head as goodbye and I wander over to the plant station, the one where Katniss blitzed the test. I carefully look over a few plants. "Would you like to try?" the expert offers. I know most of these plants. I am from the district of plants, anyway. "Sure."

I almost get them all right, just a few slip-ups on flora I've seen through the fence, outside, at home, but never knew the name of. My eyes slide over to Katniss and find hers on me. I quickly look away and so does she.

Whenever I'm back at the District 11 floor, Adriana is constantly drilling me with questions like a Peacekeeper interrogating a thief. Aurelius is instructing me what to do and not do in the arena. I'm always busy. My mind is whirring whenever I go to bed so it takes me hours to fall asleep. It's always 'do this' and 'do that' and 'don't do this' and 'be like that'. By the third day I'm ready to head home, but I can't. Not now. Probably not ever.

During lunch the tributes are called out by the Gamemakers to have our private sessions. Later on, on TV, they'll give us a score, twelve being the absolute highest that's impossible to get, and one being the lowest, also impossible to get. It's illegal to reveal to the public what a tribute did in their private lesson. The people with the highest scores usually get picked off first. It doesn't actually give you an advantage in the arena.

I chew on my bread nervously, my stomach churning. The District 1 boy is called, then the girl. They seem to last forever. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Then it's Ten. First the boy, then the girl. I swallow but there's no moisture left in my mouth. These sessions determine whether you're a threat or not to the other tributes. I don't want to stuff up. I look up when the District Eleven boy is called. I hope Thresh doesn't do too badly. Fifteen minutes feels like eternity while I wait. Then finally it's my go. With shaky legs, I stand up and slowly walk towards the door.


	11. Chapter 11: Enough

**Author's Note: This chapter was risky. As I was reading the chapter in The Hunger Games where all the tributes are training together, I realised that I had forgotten to mention when Rue was discussing these matters with Adriana that Rue was extremely skilled with a slingshot, as was pointed out by Katniss in the actual book. I had to fix it quick; and so resorted to making Rue a natural. I hope no one feels I'm trying to create a Mary-Sue in this chapter, or the chapter before. My most sincere apologies if they do. I hope you like chapter eleven - here you go.**

* * *

My hands are clenching and unclenching into fists as I walk to the middle of the big room. There's proof that other tributes have been here, with the severed ropes and punctured bags and dummies. The Gamemakers are lazing about in their fancy purple robes, nibbling at food in front of them and pouring alcohol down their throats. There's a table with weapons spread out on it: bows and arrows, knives, maces, tridents, all sorts of things. And there's my beloved slingshot. I swipe it, grab some ammo, load and fire at a dummy. The little ball rips through the heart of the dummy. But when I glance at the Gamemakers, they appear bored. Most of them aren't even watching me. I'm not exactly exciting.

I sigh, frustrated. I'm a person, too! I count! I guess I'll have to do something to catch their attention.

I run over to the climbing frame, next to the wall, that stretches up and up and up to almost touch the giant beams supporting the roof. I hesitate, having no pockets and no bag; no way to hold my things. I slip my arm through the slingshot and pour the little steel balls into my mouth. I screw up my nose at the strong metallic taste but grasp the ropes and haul myself up. I scramble up the net as fast as I can.

When I reach the top, I look down at the Gamemakers. Oh, well, they're looking, at least. I shuffle along the wooden pole sticking out the top, parallel to the ground. I steadily get to my feet, and hear a few of the Gamemakers mumble unsurely. If I lose footing I'm as good as dead. "Oops," I mutter to myself. This was a stupid idea, Rue, I think. But I have to get a good score.

So, I crouch down a bit, centre myself, face the long beams up above me a few feet, think of the trees at home, and leap. There are a few cries below me and I latch onto the beam. Oh dear. It's round. And slippery.

I adjust my grip and shift myself up over the beam a little more, using my clammy hands as kind of frog-like sticky pads to hold on. Then a little more. And a little more. Until I'm draped over the beam. I lie flat on it and shuffle forward on my stomach to a thinner one. I get to my feet again and before I can slip I jump. This time it's easier and sooner than before I'm on top of it.

Breathing heavily, I look down. No one is focused on the food, and a few Gamemakers have stood up. I smile in what I hope is a confident way — not very easy with a mouthful of slingshot ammo.

I carefully, carefully sit up on the beam, then, using a technique I've done over a hundred times at home in the orchard, throw my leg over one side so I'm straddling the beam, then let myself fall sideways, locking my feet tightly together. A female Gamemaker screams, thinking I've fallen, but I keep my ankles locked.

Now, upside down, I spit out a metal ball and load my slingshot. I am for a target and fire. Oh! Just missed it! I try again a few times, getting a feel for firing whilst upside down. When I've gotten it pretty well, I go for a dummy. The ball rips through the stomach diagonally.

The blood is rushing to my head, which I'm used to, but the cold, slippery surface of the beam is making holding on with my legs quite difficult. I quickly use up the remainder of my ammo, getting pretty good shots actually, and hoist myself up, grabbing the beam.

When I lift my body up to lie on the beam, I drop my slingshot and let it tumble to the ground. I hope that's not me soon. I freeze when I realize: how am I going to get down?

Well, going back the way I came is out. I see a thick padded mat, a few feet tall and wide and thick. Maybe I wouldn't completely kill myself if I land on that.

I pull myself along the thin beam and shakily get to my feet, then jump for another beam. Then another. And then one more. Finally I'm above the mat. I think it's for wrestling practice or something.

"What are you doing?" I hear someone cry. I don't reply. Instead, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, and roll off the beam. My stomach drops like a stone but I swallow my scream. It's quite a fall so I make sure I land on my back to minimize injury. Can't have a broken arm. I cross my arms over my chest as I reach the ground. All I'm thinking is, 'Don't die, don't die, don't die...'

All the wind is knocked out of me when I hit the mat. I've hit the edge and so I'm hastily deposited by the mat onto the floor, on my stomach. I feel like I'm back at the Justice Building, saying goodbye to my family for the last time. There's no air inside me. Just take deep breaths, Rue. Calm down.

Eventually I can sit up. I struggle to my feet and give a wobbly smile to the Gamemakers. "Ta-da," I say weakly, holding out my arms. They seem to be frozen on the spot. After some time one purses her lips and says, "You're dismissed." This thaws out the others and they regard me stiffly, sitting back down and enjoying the rest of their meal. I exit the doors and take the lift back to floor Eleven, still unsteady on my feet after my little act. I seem to be wading through tree sap for all it's worth. I push open the sitting room door and immediately I'm swamped by people. "How did you go?" "What did you do?" "You didn't screw up, did you?"

I ignore them and take a seat, sighing. "Never again," I mutter to myself. That fall must have turned my hair grey, it was so scary. I wait till everyone's settled down before I begin to speak. "Well, I doubt they'd seen something like it before," I say slowly. I'm staring at my knees but I can feel nine pairs of eyes fixated on me: Aurelius, Ossian, my prep team, George, Adriana, Thresh and his stylist.

"So how did you go, Thresh?" I ask brightly. He stares at me, his eyes hard. My smile drops.

"Fine," he replies, surprising me.

"If he followed the plan, he impressed the Gamemakers with his strength," George brags. I'm deciding I'm not a big fan of George.

"Thanks for that, George," Aurelius drawls sarcastically. "But unless your name is Thresh I doubt your input was needed."

George scowls but stays quiet.

"So, Rue, honey, how did you go?" Aurelius says eagerly.

"Fine."

"What did you do?" Adriana asks.

"I...hit some targets with a slingshot," I answer reluctantly. Then I make a face. "Well, tried to. A lot of the time I missed. That sucked."

Adriana's hopeful smile vanishes. "That's all?"

"Hey, I'm pretty good at it fro someone who's never used one before today!" I say defensively. "The expert at the station said I had a gift."

"Yes, but it doesn't set you apart from the other 23 tributes who also have 'gifts'," Adriana says. "Come on, I know you, Rue. You're a bright girl. You know that. You must have done something else."

I nod. "I did. I climbed the net and fired some shots from higher up."

I don't want to talk about it in front of everyone and I try to channel this through my eyes as I look at Adriana. She seems to get it.

"Well, that's better, I suppose," she sighs, leaning back against her chair. "I'll talk to you mentor-to-tribute later, 'K?"

"OK." She rises and leaves in a way that dismisses everyone else, including me. I go to my bedroom and hug my pillow.

"I hope it was enough, Mom," I whisper. Enough to get me a decent score. Enough to let me live a little longer so I might have a better chance to go home.


	12. Chapter 12: My bad

**[A/N] Hi everyone. The chapters will start to get longer, I swear. Not quite yet, but very soon. I swear on my mockingjay badge - which for me is like Katniss swearing on Prim's life, or Peeta swearing on Katniss' life, or Haymitch swearing on alcohol, or maybe the gods of Olympus swearing on the River Styx. In other words, an oath that is unbreakable. I hope you like chapter twelve!**

* * *

I hear a knocking on my door. "Come in," I mumble.

Adriana cracks open the door and pokes her head in. "Hey," she says softly. "Are you OK? Did everything go well?"

I take a deep breath. "I almost killed myself," I say, my voice catching on killed.

"What?" Adriana exclaims, hurrying in and sitting on the bed beside me.

"Not even metaphorically. I got a slingshot, some ammo, and climbed up the net thing. Then I stood up on that piece of wood above it and I jumped onto the beams supporting the roof."

Adriana raises her eyebrows. "Wow. Why?"

"They weren't listening to me or watching me. I had to get their attention somehow. And it worked," I reply half-hopefully. Adriana frowns. "Then I jumped onto a different one, and wrapped my legs around it, and went upside down like I do at home in the trees, and fired shot from up there," I continue.

Adriana widens her eyes and sighs. "How did you get down?"

I grimace. "I didn't think about that until I had to. So what I did was I jumped onto this beam above this wrestling mat or something..."

Adriana gasps and covers her mouth with her hands as she guesses what comes next. "You didn't," she says.

I nod. "I did. I let go."

"Rue!" Adriana chides. "That was so dangerous! What if you'd died?"

"I didn't die, though."

"You stupid little girl," she says crossly. "You can't go around risking your life before the Games even start!"

I shove my face into my pillow and roll away from her. "Shut up," I mutter into my pillow.

"What?" Adriana says. I lift my head up.

"I said I was sorry," I lie.

"Hm. Well. Just don't pull a stunt like that again, and I hope you get a good score." She stands and leaves.

When dinner time rolls around, there's an awkward tenseness between Adriana and me so I keep my head down and stuff my face instead of talking.

Then it arrives — the dreaded scoring.

We all pile into the sitting room, our undivided attention on the TV screen. As the scores are revealed along with a photo of each tribute, I hold my breath. The average is about five. Thresh receives a ten. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips as people congratulate him. Ten is excellent. I wonder what he did. I'm happy for him, but I'm desperately hoping for at least a half-decent personal score. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation. It's my go.

A cheer goes up and my eyes spring open. I stare at the screen in disbelief. Seven! I got a seven! I dance around the room, accepting people's congratulations and hugs.

I sit down and look at the TV as District 12 comes up. Peeta receives an eight, which is great too. Not as good as ten, obviously, but still great.

My heart skips a beat as Katniss' turn arrives. Then her number is flashing on the screen under her name. Everyone is stunned into silence.

She got eleven.

No one has ever gotten such a high score before. Not that I've ever seen or heard of, anyway.

Eleven.

Katniss.

Everdeen.

Got.

_Eleven_.

I bet she's happy.

"What did she do?" Aurelius gapes.

"I have no idea," I mutter. I jump to my feet. "I am SO having her as my ally!"

I face Thresh. "You did great, Thresh."

"Thanks," he says stiffly. "You too."

"Thanks," I grin. I skip out of the room and up onto the roof of the building, where I run to the railing and lean over to watch the bustling Capitol. I get up onto the railing. Well, if I can't fall, then I may as well enjoy it. I take deep breaths, grinning. For the first time, I really feel hope. I open my mouth and begin to sing a song that I usually reserve for my mockingjays at home.

Will you fly with me?

Feel the wind under our wings

And the rain on our feathers.

Hear us cry.

Hear us laugh.

Don't be afraid, little bird.

Have faith.

Will you swim with me?

The ocean will caress our scales.

The waves will drown our sorrows.

Hear us cry.

Hear us laugh.

Be free, little fish.

Love our world.

"Nice," a deep, rough voice behind me says. I start and tip backwards with a surprised squeak. A pair of strong arms catches me and immediately sets me on my feet. I instantly know who it is. I wriggle away and whirl around.

"Why are you here? I thought you didn't like me," I shout.

Thresh's dark eyes find mine easily and they seem to be trying to convey something.

"Never said that," he says gruffly. "Said I don't want to be your friend."

"Then why are you here?"

"Wanted to see the 'almighty Capitol'," he says sarcastically.

"Why did you catch me?" I yell exasperatedly. "I could've just fallen backwards and died. It might've been easier for you later."

"Wouldn't go down well for you to die now."

I shake my head, confused. "You said 'nice'. What do you mean?"

"Nice song."

"Well — thanks, I guess."

We stand there awkwardly. "Um, I'll go inside," I say and walk around him. "I, uh, hope you don't die quickly." I stop and turn around. "No, wait, I didn't mean I hope you die slowly! I meant I hope you don't die on the first day. Wait, I mean I hope you live for a while. No, wait, I mean I hope I don't have to kill you and I hope you make it to the final eight. But you'd end up killing me, probably, since you're, y'know," I gesture towards him hopelessly with a defeated, weak laugh, "so much bigger than me..."

Thresh looks at me. His stature is intimidating but there's something gentle about his gaze.

"This whole might-be-dead-in-a-few-days thing doesn't work for me," I admit with another nervous, airy giggle. "So... yeah. Bye."

I quickly walk away, push the door open and all but fall down the stairs in my rush to get to my bedroom. I brush my teeth, get changed and hop into bed.

"Goodnight Rose. Goodnight Lilly. Goodnight Daisy. Goodnight Joy. Goodnight Belle. Goodnight Mom," I say loudly to the air. Normally at home this would set of a jumble of noisy 'goodnight's but now there's no one to reply. I sigh sadly and close my eyes.

The next morning I'm up before anyone else, and it's still dark outside. But now I'm awake I can't go back to sleep so I get dressed and go out to have breakfast. I'm not extremely hungry yet, so I grab an apple and pace around the sitting room eating that.

"Well, you got a seven," I say to myself. "A seven's pretty good, especially for someone your size. And that might've thrown the other tributes a bit. Oh... I hope they won't come for you. I suppose if they do you could hide. Yeah. Do that. You're great at hiding and running. Then when they least expect it — pow! You get them with your slingshot. Slingshots are great, huh? I wish you could tell your sisters about them. They'll have a ball with them. Uh... actually, maybe not. They might get themselves killed if they accidentally shoot something. Don't want that."

For the next hour or so I just walk in circles around the room, talking to myself.

"I miss Chive and Ivy. They were great friends. Remember all the great times you shared with them? Yeah, well, you'd better, coz you won't be sharing any more. And remember Gunnera? Yeah, course I do. He was cute, wasn't he? Yeah. Too bad you're going to die before you can tell him how you felt about him–"

"Rue?"

I jump a foot in the air with a yelp in shock.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Ossian says with a toothy smile. "What were you doing?"

"Uh, nothing. Let's go have breakfast," I say, half jogging to get out. I jerk sideways in surprise when his creepy tail brushes my arm unexpectedly as I pass him and I smash into the doorframe. "Ow!" I yelp, but keep going, slower now, massaging where I'll surely have a bruise. I hurry into the dining room, get a plate, pile food onto it and plonk myself onto a seat. I immediately begin shoveling handfuls of food into my mouth quite unattractively. Ossian sweeps into the room and fetches himself some sort of meat. He sits down and slices the meat with his knife. He chews the piece slowly and thoughtfully, staring upwards, then be looks to me. "I hope you're looking forward to the interviews," he growls.

My nod is a jerk of my head.

"Oh, you should see the outfit I designed for you," he says dreamily. "You will soon enough. It is simply gorgeous. Suit you perfectly. It'll add to our little secret pretence we're keeping up," he adds in an obvious whisper. "Come out fighting, eh?"

I don't like having a secret with this wolf-man. Besides, it's not exactly confidential information. It's probably what people expect me to do.

I ask a question that's been dogging me for a while now. "Why George and Adriana?"

"I don't follow."

"Chaff would've probably been a better choice as a mentor, no offence to George. And Seeder. Where are they?"

"Oh, who knows? Chaff's probably off drinking again like that idiot Haymitch and Seeder really didn't way the job. So here we are, stuck with Big-head and Softie."

My brow furrows. "That... That isn't very nice of you to call Adriana soft. She won, right?"

"Yes," Ossian sighs. "But she's soft. She's grown to be too... mothering," he says with obvious distaste. "Then her tributes die and she gets all upset about it. It's horrible how she makes us put up with her sniveling."

"That's not nice," I say loudly. "She's a good mentor."

Ossian continues like I never spoke. "Seeder, on the other hand — well, what can I say? She's hardy, tough, strong. She does her job and she does it well. Well, sometimes. She's sensitive without being... soft." He spits the last word accusingly. "And when the kid's dead, she doesn't make a fuss, just keeps on going."

I'm engulfed by rage. He has no right to say those things about Adriana!

"Go eat a toddler or something, you creepy dog!" I yell in Ossian's face. Then I stalk out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I run into my bedroom and grab my pillow, screaming into it for what feels like hours, but when I check the clock on my bedside table it's only been about one and half minutes.

I sit there panting angrily for a few minutes more. I can't ever remember getting so worked up about something. I didn't take what Ossian said very well.

It's just his opinion. He can think what he likes. There's no need to blow your top, I think to myself.

I sigh. Mom didn't raise me to be rude and horrible like I was. Even though I have an excellent reason to be tightly-wound and snappy, it's really actually terrible manners. I begin to feel guilty. Mom spent twelve years teaching me to behave and in that moment all that went out the window. I should apologize to Ossian.

I fix my pillow up, make it all nice and smooth again, setting it firmly back in its place, then slink out to the sitting room. Sure enough, there's Ossian, reading a very thick book. I shuffle closer to him, folding my hands together in front of me. "Um..."

Ossian holds up a finger to tell me to wait, and, a few seconds later, turns the page of his book. He slides a bookmark into place and snaps the book shut, setting it on the small table next to him. "Rue," he says, bowing his head as an invitation to continue.

"I just wanted to— to apologize for the way I acted earlier," I say. This is a line Mom taught me when I was young, and I use it whenever I don't know how to say sorry. "It wasn't fair for me to yell at you. You were only voicing your opinion."

Ossian studies me carefully, his head tilted to the side. I wait for his acceptance of my apology. "I did that on purpose," he says suddenly.

This catches me off guard. "Pardon?"

"I purposefully made you lose your temper. I was just experimenting; seeing how you handled such a situation," he explains with a smile that makes me gulp.

"Oh," I say stupidly. Then, to recover some dignity, "And what are the results of your experiment?"

"My results are that you don't get angry a lot, am I correct?"

"My mother taught me to be calm," I say. He nods.

"It's good to have a level head. Imagine, if you will, a scene where a particular opponent begins to frustrate you. Would it be better to, if you'll excuse the phrase, spit the dummy and lose your head, getting yourself killed, or stay settled and think through a strategy to kill him?"

Neither, I think. I take a deep breath. From the moment I enter the arena, the only choice I'll have is to "Kill him."

Yes, killing anyone and everyone will be the only option.

And I hate it.


	13. Chapter 13: Four Hours

**[A/N] Wow. It has been... Wow. Such a long time since I've uploaded a new chapter. I. Am. So. Sorry. I thought I uploaded this chapter already. Gah, I feel really bad. I'm so, so, so, so sorry! I AM SORRY! Please forgive me! I'll do anything! I will! I'm so sorry!  
If it's any consolation, I've uploaded two chapters. Again, I'm really, really sorry, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

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"Precisely. Kill him. You aren't as daft as you look," Ossian praises me. My forehead crumples at his compliment/insult.

"So you see the importance of being calm and in control of yourself," he concludes, picking up his book and flipping to the bookmarked page. "Now shoo. I'm in the middle of reading a particularly riveting novel." He doesn't look up again.

I make a sound of indignity and trudge out of the room.

Later, when Aurelius calls me to the dining room to join him and the others.

"Tomorrow are your interviews," he begins. "That means we'll have to train you a bit, mm-K? So, Rue, honey, you'll have four hours with me to learn how to handle yourself, and while that's happening, Thresh honey, you'll be working with your mentor on how to speak during your interview, mm-K?"

"OK," I say unsurely. Four hours? That's a long time. "Is that all?"

"Yep. Come on, honey, chop chop! Time's ticking!" Aurelius claps his hands, which clears everyone from the room except us. "Have you ever watched yourself in a mirror?" Aurelius cries exasperatedly when we're alone.

"What?" That seemed out of the blue. But it wasn't.

"You are always fidgeting. You can't sit still. You may as well tell a bird to stop flying in mid-air."

My brain struggles to figure out what he's getting at. "Wuh— but—"

"See! There you go again."

I throw my hands up in the air. "What on earth are you going on about?"

"I'm pointing out your obvious flaws," Aurelius says in a way I think he thinks is helpful.

"Why?"

"So we can eliminate them, of course, honey."

"Whoa, back up a bit." I knead my temple. "Why are you doing this?"

Aurelius rolls his eyes with a sigh. "Honey, I don't think you're quite on the ball today. Look, for the interviews you have to present yourself as well as you would if you were raised properly." I gape at him with a big frown on my face, angry. I take a deep breath to begin my argument when Aurelius cuts me off.

"So anyway, honey. I'm singling out your flaws so we can correct them. That way you'll be good as new for the interviews, mm-K? All clear?"

I huff and cross my arms and legs, leaning against the back of the seat.

"I'll take that as a yes." The next few hours are excruciating. Aurelius insists on smoothing me out completely, without a trace of my normal self present. Sitting still as a stone but using the correct hand gestures at the right time. Walking in high-heels, which is hell on my toes and my ankles. I'm eventually able to wobble across the room without too much of a catastrophe. Then we move onto walking in high-heels dressed in a full-length gown. "How to people walk in these things?" I gasp frustratedly after falling over and ripping the dress for the millionth time.

Aurelius picks me up onto my feet. He thinks for a while. "Wait a minute, honey." He ducks out of room and a few minutes later reappears donned in a flowing dress that brushes the floor and ridiculously tall high-heels. "Let's learn together, shall we?" he says flamboyantly and I burst into uncontrollable giggles. The rest of the time we spend on walking is much more enjoyable. I find it a bit unnerving how Aurelius seems to have a knack for tottering around in those high-heels and that gown, whereas I'm still struggling. "Rue!" he says sharply when I hitch my dress halfway up my calves yet again to see my feet so I can walk without tripping over the thing. I drop the dress. "Now," Aurelius says more gently, "as we practiced. Not above the ankle..." he lifts his dress a little and I follow his actions, "head high... smile... and slowly now." We take a few steps forward. I cry out as I tumble sideways onto the floor. Aurelius sighs and helps me to my feet. "I know. You're not on your toes enough," he declares. "You have a darling stance, honey, just like a little sparrow, but you have to be completely on your toes when you walk. Observe."

He strides over to the other side of the room. "Ready? Go!"

I take a deep breath, inch my dress up my feet and roll onto the very tip of my feet. With that, I copy Aurelius, walking confidently to his side. He hands me a round of applause. "Oh, bravo! So graceful!" he gushes.

Then we move onto smiling. Yes. Just smiling. We change into our normal clothes and Aurelius sits me down in a chair and gives me a few bland lines to repeat starting with, ending with or just with a large smile. I manage that OK, I guess, but eye contact is an issue for me. I can't focus on Aurelius' eyes for more than a few moments before I look down at my hands, or to the left to stare at the wall, or to the right to study the door. "You're always moving your eyes," Aurelius groans. "Just sit still, like this, smile, and stare at their face. It's not hard, honey."

"But why do I need to smile so much?" I whine, my cheek muscles aching.

"Because the audience has to love you."

I remember what Thresh said. "Someone told me people like me anyway." I'm not trying to brag, I just really hate all this unnecessary excess grinning.

"Oh, honey, people do like you," Aurelius says sympathetically, touching my arm, "but it's best if they love you. That means you have to be fun, which equals smiling."

"Smiling doesn't equal fun," I say through gritted teeth, a forced smile on my face.

"There, you're getting the hang of it," Aurelius prompts. "Watch me again." He shifts in his chair and stares me in the eye, grinning. "Thanks Caesar, it's great to finally meet you in person." A nod of his head on 'great'. "Now you try."

I take a deep breath. "Can I just show you how I'd do it normally?"

Aurelius sighs. "Fine."

I get up and move back a few steps, then act like I'm coming on stage. I wave to the invisible audience, waving, yelling, "Hi!" as I strut to my chair and take my place with a massive grin.

I doubt I could pull this off in front of a crowd more than one, let alone millions — I'd be too scared — but this is what I'd like to do. All the time I'm trying to imagine what I would look like to my potential sponsors, to Caesar Flickerman, to the other tributes. Aurelius looks pleased. "So, Rue, it's great to finally meet you."

"Thanks, Caesar, it's great to be here!" I say enthusiastically. A cute, excited giggle.

"Fantastic, honey!" Aurelius stage-whispers encouragingly. "How are things back home?"

I give him a look. "Excuse me?"

"Rue, honey." Aurelius takes my hands in his. "To love you, they have to know you. They're going to ask you about your family for sure. And no matter how much you hate it, honey, you'll have to answer them. Mm-K?"

"I don't want them to know about my family!" I cry. "I can't protect them from dangers in District 11 anymore — the best I can do is protect them from the Capitol's prying eyes!"

"Honey," Aurelius says gently, squeezing my hands. Our skin colours contrast greatly, with his pale Capitol skin and my dark District Eleven skin. "Just relax. Do what they ask. It's for the best."

Normally I would back down now, but this is my family we're talking about. I have to do what I can. "No."

"Please."

"No!"

"Think about this way," Aurelius suggests. "You want to protect them, right? If you don't open up, then you'll get no sponsors, then something bad might happen in the arena and you'll never get to go home and make sure they're safe."

That was low. That hurt bad. I gape at him. "Don't you dare say that!"

"I'm being honest, honey," Aurelius says defensively. He sighs and looks at me with pleading eyes. "Please."

I don't reply for a minute or two. Then, finally, "OK. For my family."

Aurelius smiles. "Thank you. So, Rue, how's things with the family?"

I take a deep breath. "Last time I checked everything is all right. My husbandless mom is raising my little sisters to be angels."

Aurelius grins. "Now might I add how happy we are for you; well done on your training score. Seven — wow. You must have been amazing."

"Thank you. I tried my hardest, and that must have shown through my actions," I say. Smile.

Aurelius holds up his finger. "Pause," he says. "You should say something that shows your ferocity, but don't appear too threatening, or you'll lose your charm."

My brain reels with all the pointers to remember. "O-OK." I take a deep breath. "Thank you, Caesar. I may not look like much of a fighter, but to fight me you'll have to catch me," I say with a cheeky smirk. "Don't count me out."

Aurelius claps his hands. "Perfect! Say exactly that. Oh, I. Love. You!" He squishes my cheeks under the palm of his hands. I lean back in shock at his gesture but he doesn't seem to mind. "Why even train you? You're already done."

I take a deep breath and try to steady my shaking hands. "Thanks."

We run over a few more things — walking in high-heels again, smiling at the right time and being overly-friendly. In short, being just like poor Katniss and Peeta's perky, irritating escort.

Aurelius sighs and rubs his hands together, glancing at his watch. "Well, I think our four hours of entertainment are up, honey," he says. "Off you go to meet Adriana. Go on." He ushers me out and closes the door. I stare at the door for a few minutes, a bit confused at the brisk goodbye, and wander off to find my mentor.


	14. Chapter 14: Don't Count Me Out

**[A/N] Here's the second chapter uploaded in one go. Once more, I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. Forgive me! I love you all!**

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Turns out Adriana's the one to find me.

"Come on, let's go," she says, taking my wrist and leading me to the sitting room. She shows me to a sofa and sits down on her own, opposite me. "What we're doing now is focusing on what angle we're gonna have you play from."

"What?" I say. What she said made no sense to me.

Adriana sighs. "You know how each tribute every year is different in their interviews? Some are quiet, some are real friendly, you know?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, they're playing from an angle that their mentors set for them, or they chose themselves. We need to decide how we're going to present you to Panem."

I groan and lean back in the chair. "This is going to be hard."

"No one said the Hunger Games were easy," Adriana says with an apologetic shrug.

"Yeah," I mutter. I think for a few moments. "Ossian wants me to be 'sweet and gentle' then 'come out fighting'," I say, using my fingers to create air-quotes.

"Hm... He has a good point. You definitely aren't sullen, you aren't really a class clown, and you're anything but sexy." Adriana drums her fingers on the table. "So. Let's try this."

For the next four hours we work on how I'll present myself to Caesar Flickerman, the entire population of Panem and President Snow. I use Aurelius and Ossian's suggestions, and, blended with Adriana's genius ideas, the television me is born.

I don't feel as talkative that night at dinner. All this remolding, like being kneaded as if I'm dough, is tiring me out. Aurelius, on the other hand, is chattering away like it's nobody's business. I make a few inputs in the conversations, mostly at Aurelius' invitation, but in the end I just want to go to bed, so I excuse myself before I've finished eating. I'm not sure what I feel about tomorrow — excited, nervous, scared? — but I know I'm frustrated by this whole thing. "Why?" I yell at the wall. "WHY?" Why are the Hunger Games even on? Why do people enjoy it? Why don't they see how terrible it all is? I clench my fists and press one to my temple, doubling over as I suppress my feelings. I straighten up with a sigh and fall into bed, fully clothed, where I pass out before I even get under the covers.

"Wake up, Rue!" I hear a voice screech in my ear. I jerk awake and I'm so surprised to see my prep team staring at me, leaning over my bed, that I scream and tumble to the floor.

Octavius clicks his tongue disapprovingly and hoists me to my feet. I stumble back a few steps, promptly slamming into the bedside table and almost falling over. I press myself up against the wall to previousnt any self-harm and take deep breaths to steady my racing heart. "What are you doing in my bedroom?" I ask breathlessly.

"Waking you up, of course," Metella replies cheerily. "Come on, Ossian's turn today." She grabs my wrist and drags me out.

"But— but what about breakfast?" I stammer. "And I need to have a shower and get dressed." I look down at my clothes. "Well, changed."

"Here," Octavius says, shoving a steaming-hot cheese bun into my hand as we go.

I hiss at the heat and drop the bun reflexively. It lands cheese-down on the carpet. My prep team comes to a sudden halt and they all gawk at the bun. Seconds tick by in silence. "Oh, great!" Laetitia whines eventually. "The carpet'll be all greasy now!"

I crouch down and swipe the cheesy bun off the ground, revealing a small grease stain that it left behind. I pick pieces of fluff off the cheese and when it's clean enough I go to take a bite. Octavius squeals, which sounds so strange coming from a full-grown male that I lower the bun and look at him. "What are you doing?" he squeaks.

"Eating breakfast."

"No, that's junk now! You can't eat that!"

This rubs me the wrong way. "Watch me," I snarl, taking a big bite and stalking past disgusted prep team and into the prep room. I polish the cheese bun off, and take a shower in the on-suite. When I'm done I wrap myself up in a thin robe provided and head out to face my prep team.

They work on me all day. By the time Ossian comes in to do a final checkup in the late afternoon, my skin is softer than a baby's, my hair is silkier than silk itself, my nails are shinier than polished metal and more perfectly curved than the sun.

My make-up is gentler than my make-up for the parade, the strongest features on my face my eyes with silver sparkly eyelash extensions and black, heavy eyeliner that curls onto my temple into 'cat-eyes', Metella calls them. Soft blush is applied to my cheekbones, and medium-tone brown lipstick to my lips to lighten them and make them glossier. My nails are painted green and brown, just a random swirl of both colours. Ribbons of the same colours are woven into my hair, with braids on the side of my head flowing into the rest of my hair like rivers running into the ocean.

Ossian hums as he checks my make-up and body. He steps back, with his hands laced together behind him and his tail sweeping the air contemplatively. He claps his hands and Laetitia, who I never noticed leaving, enters with a black bag on a coat hanger. "Turn away from the mirror, Rue," Ossian instructs me. I do as he says and behind me he unwraps my dress from its black bag covering.

"Look straight ahead," Ossian says sharply when I begin to turn my head to see what I'll be wearing.

"Sorry." I focus on the clock on the wall across the room and do as I'm told. Step here. Put your arm through here. Pull this up. Quit fidgeting. OK, I couldn't do the last one, but who can blame me?

I step blindly into shoes that thankfully have heels not even half an inch tall and, per Ossian's orders, spin to face the mirror.

"Wow," I gasp. Because Ossian's done it again.

He laughs. "Let's see that District Twelve stylist beat THAT," he says triumphantly.

Gossamer dress, green and brown. With wings. I lift my arms and the wings rise with them. I'm a bird. Not a mockingjay, but my own special breed of bird.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Ossian announces in what I think is supposed to be a Claudius Templesmith imitation, "I am proud to present to you the calm, the quiet, the innocent, the one and the only Rue-bird!" He throws out his arms with a giant, very toothy grin. His tail wags happily and his ears perk up straight. I shrink away from him.

Ossian gets a grip on himself. He clears his throat before shooing me away with his hand. "Walk around a bit," he orders.

I step forward, finding that my shoes are easy to walk in and the dress is flexible enough to possibly to the splits in.

"Quick, don't move," Ossian demands, holding out his hand. I freeze. "Just stand there normally."

I do and Ossian makes a frame with his paws, holding them out. "Right there," he says. "Right there. Picture perfect." He claps happily. "So you all fired up? Got the charm switched on?"

All of a sudden I'm three times as nervous than I was ten seconds ago. "Well— I dunno— I mean I know, but—"

Ossian gives me a look. "How on earth are people supposed to like you if you can't even form a proper sentence?"

Every time that man opens his mouth my stomach sinks a little lower. I sigh. "I'm screwed," I wail.

Ossian laughs. "Yeah, you're screwed."

I turn on him. "Well, thank YOU for all the love and support."

He smirks. "I'm just telling it like it is. What do you want me to say? 'I can guarantee that everyone will love you and you'll be showered with gifts'?"

"No," I mutter. "But you could at least wish me luck."

"I'd say good luck, but really it doesn't actually GIVE you luck. It's useless."

I sigh again, this time frustratedly. "Fine, you win. I'm dead. I hope you're happy."

"Just try to speak like a normal person," is all he replies, ushering me out. Then it's time to go.

All I'm thinking as I join Thresh, our mentors and Aurelius at the elevator is 'I hate cameras'. My breaths are coming in quick, shallow pants and I feel light-headed. "Rue, honey, calm down," Aurelius stage-whispers gently as we take the stomach-dropping ride in the elevator down to the stage where the interviews will be held, in front of the Training Centre. "You'll be fine."

"No. No, I won't," I hiss. "Ossian said I'm as good as dead and I am."

"Look, honey, I didn't wear high-heels for nothing. You're a beautiful little girl and people will adore you. I can assure you that much. I've heard the other escorts talking about you. By the way, you look fab."

I smile at him. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

He cups my face in his hand. "Knock their socks off, Rue-bird."

Ossian must have bragged about his ingenious outfits again.

The ding of the elevator doors, though quiet, resonates through my head like a siren. Numb with fear, I follow Thresh out and we take our seats in the wide arc that the tributes are sitting in. Girl first, then boy.

I feel cold all over and I'm trembling like a skittish chick about to leave the nest for the first time. The palms of my hands are sweating profusely and I don't want to wipe them on my dress in case it damages it, so I clutch the cool metal legs of my chair instead. I anxiously scan the balconies looming over us. All but one, which is accommodated by Gamemakers, are packed with cameramen. The raised platform reserved for significant guests has its front row filled by the stylists. I spy Ossian and a shudder goes through me. "Yeah, you're screwed." His words echo through my head. I turn my head away. Every eye in the country of Panem will be trained on the tributes this night. Every television will be tuned in. Every camera will gobble up our images.

The City Circle is crowded to the point that the people will only be breathing in what the person next to them had just breathed out.

I try to swallow but my mouth is bone dry. I must have sweated out all my body fluids. My pulse bangs in my head like a hammer. I just about pass out when Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer, bounds onto the stage. In my panic, I remember what Annabelle used to say whenever she saw him on television: "Look Mommy, it's the robot!"

What she meant by this was throughout the entire time Caesar has been interviewing, which is a very long time too, the only thing that's changed in his appearance is his hair and lipstick colours. Thankfully it's not crimson again this year, it's powder blue.

After a brief introduction the District One girl is called up to the chair opposite Caesar's. I can't help but think how beautiful she is. Flowing blonde hair, sparkling emerald eyes, a dazzling white smile, a tall and lush body, graceful movements, a see-through golden gown. OK, I admit I don't think much of the provocative get-up. What angle is she playing from? Nothing but sexy.

When her three minutes are up and the buzzer goes off, her place is taken by the boy from One.

I'm thankful that Caesar has a kind heart. He really does try to make each tribute shine. He makes a timid or forgettable comment or a lame joke memorable by the way he reacts. Overreacts, should I say.

Despite this reassuring fact, with each tribute that is interviewed, more and more frantic butterflies appear in my stomach to the point that I'm about to throw up. I watch each tribute closely, seeing what sort of jokes bring a laugh to the audience lips, which reactions to certain questions spark curiosity and excitement.

The boy from Two, the one I thought was bigger than Thresh and I believe is — just — is ruthless and violent. The redheaded fox-like girl from 5 is cunning and wily. The poor crippled boy from Ten is very quiet and looks like he's on the verge of breaking. And before I know it, too soon, I'm being called. The air is knocked out of me. Then I think of my sisters and my mom and possibly even my dad, my awful and careless father who I think I might even love still, watching me carefully. Holding hands in worry, praying that I will be OK. This fills me with a determination that I haven't felt for a long time and I suck in a tight breath before standing. I hesitate a moment to bring forward the TV Rue — Rue-bird — and then I hurry over to the seat, my heart thudding hopefully as the crowd falls silent.

I sit down gently and grin at Caesar, who readily returns it. "Gorgeous outfit, Rue," he says, gesturing to me.

My mind goes blank for a scary second. What do I say? I struggle for breath but keep the smile pasted on my face. "Th-thank you, Caesar. And... and thank you to Ossian! I couldn't have asked for a— more inspirational stylist," I say enthusiastically with a large wave to Ossian. The cameras swivel to see his reaction. He nods hello and waves good-naturedly.

Caesar rubs his hands together. "Now, down to business. I think I speak for all of us when I say congratulations on your impressive training score. Seven!" He turns to the crowd with a shocked expression. "Were you surprised to receive such a large score for, might I say, one so small?"

"I was, Caesar, and I still am," I reply. "But... I did my best."

"Your best certainly is admirable," Caesar says with a nod, holding his hand out to the Gamemakers to ask for their opinions. They nod in agreement and one guy gives me a double thumbs-up.

"Rue, you're the youngest tribute this year and yet you must be one of the most determined. What's given you so much self-assurance and strength?"

I'm caught off-guard by this question. My own words come to mind: "OK. For my family."

I take a deep breath. "I guess, being the oldest in my family, helping my single mom raise my five younger sisters has given me so much strength. So much to fight for. So much to lose. So much I can't afford to lose. Love makes everyone strong."

Caesar nods gravely. "You're absolutely right." He looks to the audience. "Isn't she? Terrific girl, she is."

The audience cheers and I smile.

"So what is your greatest strength? How will you fight to get back to your darling sisters and mother?"

The answer comes to my mind instantly. My voice trembles as I think about how important my next words are. "I'm very hard to catch. And if they can't catch

me, they can't kill me." I recall what Aurelius told me to say. "So don't count me out."

"I wouldn't in a million years," Caesar says encouragingly. Then the buzzer goes off and I thank Caesar, stand up and walk across the stage to take my seat.

Caesar introduces the next tribute and Thresh takes his seat silently in that sort of way which I would find frightening if I didn't know what a gentle person he really is. Caesar is all smiles and laughs, which is the opposite to Thresh. "What are you doing?" I whisper curiously under my breath as I watch Thresh reject any attempts of banter that Caesar throws at him, in fact not saying anything besides yes and no.

The buzzer sounds and Thresh leaves his seat without even a goodbye.

My heart flutters anxiously as Katniss Everdeen is called to the stage, looking radiant but slightly scary with her startling make-up and magnificent dress that gives the impression she's on fire. Again with the fire.

Katniss appears to be calm but I can see in the way she shifts in her chair that she's terrified. Her answer to Caesar's first question is strangely honest, saying that her favourite thing about the Capitol is the lamb stew with plums. She brings a real laugh from the audience with her next reply.

Then the interview takes an unexpected turn. "I thought Cinna was brilliant," she says, "and it was the most gorgeous costume I'd ever seen and I couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this, either." She lifts up the skirt in awe. "I mean, look at it!"

Her eyes keep flicking over to where the stylists are sitting and they do so again now. I follow her gaze to see the sensible-looking man that was extinguishing her dress after the parade make a twirling motion with his finger. That's her stylist? He's so plain!

Katniss jumps off her chair and spins around once. The crowd _ooh_s and _aah_s and Caesar begs for her to do it again. I'm expecting her to say no and sit down again. But she begins to twirl, raising her arms. Her dress appears to engulf her body in flames. It's incredible, really, but I'm shocked. I never guessed Katniss would spin in circles wearing a dress for the Capitol. Finally she staggers to a halt, clutching Caesar's arm and giggling. "Don't stop!" Caesar says.

"I have to, I'm dizzy!" Katniss giggles, sounding like Lilly when she plays tip with me. I stare at her. She's so different from the powerful, captivating woman ablaze, rebelling against the Capitol by holding a boy's hand, during the parade. Here, now, she's a little girl, laughing crazily, letting Caesar wrap his arms around her and help her seat after she spun around in circles to show off her pretty dress to the Capitol. Like she's their puppet.

This brings a question to my attention, one that I have to study very closely: Who is Katniss Everdeen?


	15. Chapter 15: I'm Not Ready

**[A/N] Again, I am so sorry I'm so slack. I kept forgetting, and every time I remembered someone was using the computer so I couldn't and I kept thinking I'd already uploaded this chapter so I kept uploading chapter sixteen and then I had to take it off because sixteen is _not _before fifteen and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Sorry! I hope you can forgive me - I don't want to turn into Xed Alpha (who takes forEVER to upload new chapters...). Oh, by the way, who else thinks that Lionsgate is making mistake after mistake with the casting for The Hunger Games movie? I know I do.**

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"So, how about that training score. E-le-ven. Give us a hint what happened in there."

Caesar's still chatting away after Katniss' burst of absolute girly-ness. She glances at the Gamemakers, worrying her lip with her teeth, and says, "Um . . . all I can say, is I think it was a first."

Caesar looks desperate. "You're killing us," he gasps. "Details, details."

Backed up by a certain loud Gamemaker, Katniss graciously rejects Caesar's begging for info on her private training. When Caesar asks about the reaping where she volunteered for Prim, her expression clouds over. She stares at Caesar fervently. "Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything." There's no doubt in any word she says. They're filled to the brim with adoration for her sister.

There isn't a sound in the City Circle now. It's more silent than a graveyard.

"What did she say to you? After the reaping?" Caesar asks gently.

Katniss swallows hard. "She asked me to try really hard to win." I'm on the edge of my seat, my ears grasping her every word. I'm positive every person in Panem is frozen with anticipation as well.

"And what did you say?" Caesar prompts softly.

Katniss has a fierce spark in her eyes, but at the same time she appears to be frozen; very cold. She speaks with overwhelming emotion, and even though her voice has dropped an octave, the echoes through the City Circle as if she's yelling through a loudspeaker. "I swore I would."

Caesar gives her arm a sympathetic squeeze. "I bet you did," he says. The buzzer goes off, making me jump in surprise and breaking the mesmerizing spell that Katniss cast over the City Circle. Caesar sends her off stage with words of encouragement, but his voice is drowned out by the defeaning clapping and cheering of the audience. Thresh gives me a strange look and I realize I'm clapping along with everyone else. I stop immediately. He makes a face, which almost makes me laugh, and turns away. The applause goes on long after Katniss has sat down.

Peeta Mellark is brought out and I listen carefully to see if he's as odd as I first placed him as. As the interview goes on, I realize he's actually pretty nice, and funny too. He makes jokes that bring laughs to my lips and I chew on the inside of my cheek to swallow them down. But a few giggles escape when Peeta asks Caesar if he smells like roses after the extravagant Capitol showers and they take turns sniffing each other. It's really all very silly. Peeta turns very quiet when Caesar then asks him if he has a girlfriend back home. He hesitates before giving a very small and unconvincing shake of his head.

"Handsome lad like you," Caesar says. "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" He leans in eagerly.

Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." There it is again, that wistfulness that made me think he's not quite on the ball. So it's about a girl?

"She have another fellow?" asks Caesar.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta sadly.

"So, here's what you do," Caesar suggests cheerily. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" He grins encouragingly.

Peeta deflates even more. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning . . . won't help in my case."

Caesar frowns. "Why ever not?" he says, mystified.

Peeta's face darkens to a deep red and he stammers out before dropping his gaze to his feet, "Because . . . because . . . she came here with me."

At that moment the final piece of the puzzle slots into my head. Amongst all the murmuring of the distraught crowd and even a few disbelieving wails, something in my head clicks. That look that Peeta gave to Katniss. After the parade, in the Training Centre. What is was I couldn't place in his warm smile.

It was love.

My lungs have been encased in ice and my blood has turned to cement. Peeta Mellark has just claimed his love for Katniss Everdeen. What I'll happen to him? To her? To them? In the arena? It's unfair, I think, staring at the big screen, which is showing Katniss' blushing face and downcast eyes. Unfair on her. Now she'll have to take all the guff that Peeta dropped on her. This is why Thresh is ignoring me. This is why we can't be friends. I didn't realize before, but now I do. It's dangerous. It's crazy.

It's just what the audience wants.

What did I say in my interview? "Love makes us strong"? Family love, yes. Forbidden love in a gladiatorial battle of survival, not so much. Peeta has just written his and Katniss' names down on the 'Death shall surely come to thou' list. Already on it is the boy from Ten with the crippled foot and I think maybe me. Oh, twenty three of us will make that list, but Peeta's just secured two spots. His theatrical declaration has without a doubt given him hundreds of sponsors, but they can't save him from a tribute wielding a knife. Or bow and arrows.

What did Caesar just say? I missed it. Something to do with bringing Katniss back out, I think. That's not gonna happen.

"Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours," Caesar says. The roar of the crowd's assent hits my ears like knives and I flinch away from the never-ending scream. Peeta has made the rest of our interviews entirely forgettable with his. He's blown us out of the water. When the audience finally settles down Peeta chokes out, "Thank you," and walks off stage. The anthem plays and I have to raise my head out of respect. My eyes flick from one screen to another as the anthem goes. Katniss and Peeta are everywhere, dominating the cameras' attentions.

After the anthem the tributes file out and into the Training Centre lobby, where we catch elevators up to our district levels. Everyone is staring at Katniss and Peeta, who seem to be making an effort to stay separated. I catch the elevator up to my floor and wait for Adriana, Aurelius and Thresh to say goodnight and such. Thresh gets off the elevator the trip after me. I don't know what to say in the awkward silence that follows, so he just brushes past me and heads off to who knows where.

I wait for the others to arrive. Aurelius squeals and gives me a big hug. "You were perfect, honey!" he cries.

"Thanks," I say, muffled by his shirt.

Adriana comes and gives me a hug also. "Great job, Rue. Great job," she says.

Ossian nods at me. "Not as pathetic as I thought it would be."

My stomach growls as the smell of food drifts into the room. "Can we have dinner now?" I mumble distractedly, my mind still whirring maniacally over the interviews.

"Of course," Adriana says. "George, can you find Thresh?"

George grumbles something to himself about being treated like an Avox and trudges off.

On the way to the dining room, Aurelius is chatting away about the interviews. Well, District 12 interviews. "You were totally right, honey! But oh my, how dreadful is it for them! Torn away from each other like that, oh it's just criminal! But how exciting will it be to watch their love unfold." He sighs dreamily.

Mostly I tune him out. Adriana, behind Aurelius' back, makes a talking motion with her hand and pulls a face, pointing to Aurelius. I giggle.

"I mean who would have seen it coming? The star-crossed lovers of District Twelve... These Games will be the best yet, mark my words, honey."

We enter the dining room as Aurelius moves onto talking about how Katniss is lucky to have such a handsome boy to fall for her. Oh, shut up, I think viciously.

I eat dinner in a daze, pretty much in my head the entire time. I run over in detail several things: skills I learnt in training, how I could approach Katniss in the arena about being an ally without getting my throat slit by a knife in her sturdy and capable hands, how Peeta's tragic confession of love will affect her — affect all of us, really – and what I could do to give me that extra edge I've lost by being so small and, let's face it, fragile.

Adriana shakes me from my daydream after repeating my name a few times.

"Huh?" I mutter, looking at her.

"Are you planning to join us, or are you just going to sit there chewing on the end of the fork?" she asks. Unaware of what I was doing, I had, in fact, started chewing on the prongs of the fork. I quickly set it on my empty plate, clear my throat to earn myself some dignity back, and follow Adriana to the lounge room, where the recaps of the interviews are beginning to show. I take a seat and watch them intently. I look so tiny compared to everyone else, and I can't say I stand out. I say basically what everyone else says: I love my family, I'll try my hardest to win, blah blah blah. Oh, great. I felt so significant with the audience watching me up there, but really I'm boring and easily overlooked. Katniss appears as unsettlingly girly and giggly and frilly, spinning like a child.

After the recaps I immediately start to feel queasy. _Tomorrow_, my panicking mind screams. _The Games are tomorrow. Tonight could be your last. Tonight might be the last time you ever see the moon, the stars, feel the crisp chill of the night air, breathe in the fresh smell of a new day._ I begin to shiver, ice creeping through my veins and slowly freezing me. With difficulty, I get to my feet and mechanically walk to the door after bidding everyone goodnight. "Rue, honey, wait up," Aurelius cries. With an extra-large tremble, I spin around. Thresh, who's beside me, does the same. Aurelius gives me a tight hug and pats Thresh on the shoulder. "I just wanted to say best of luck for tomorrow, and the rest of the Games," he says, looking like he's swallowing down his sadness. Not tears, just pity. The back of my eyes sting with tears that want to escape, and my throat tightens, but I try not to look too distraught. Aurelius wasn't such a bad guy, really. He dressed up in a gown just to help me; he made me laugh; he's going to set me up with sponsors, if there are any at all. I have to admit I might actually feel a little sad not ever seeing him again, even though he's from the Capitol. "I know you'll both do fantastically!" Aurelius grins. "Go get 'em, honey," he says to me, kissing the top of my head.

"Bye, Aurelius," I say quietly. "Can you tell the tributes next year I said good luck?"

Aurelius nods. In an uncharacteristically masculine gesture, he claps Thresh on the shoulder, and hurries from the room. My eyes follow him until the door bangs closed behind him.

"Best of luck, Rue," George says with a small smile. He shakes Thresh's hand as a farewell and musses my hair as if I'm a little kid, which irritates me. "I know you'll do great," he whispers to Thresh. I have a feeling I wasn't supposed to hear that, so I ignore it. "See ya," I say with as much perkiness I can muster. Then I realize I won't 'see him'. Because I'll be dead. It's too late to take it back, though, because he's left too.

Finally Adriana comes forward. Her eyes are shining with tears as she hugs me tightly. I clutch onto her, tears finally spilling over. "Oh, Rue, don't cry," she says gently, kneeling down in front of me and wiping a tear away with her thumb. Like Mom always used to do. Now I won't see either of them ever again. I hiccup and cover my mouth with my hand. "I'm sorry," I sob.

Tears run down Adriana's face. "Oh, Rue." She hugs me again, and I cry into her shirt. "Work hard, little flower. I know you'll do well." She whispers in my ear, "Katniss will keep you safe. I promise." She goes to pull away, but I grab her shirt. "Mo— Adriana," I whimper. "Don't go. I don't want to say goodbye." It will make all of this, this death and battle for survival, too real and too near.

Adriana gently pries me from her shirt and fixes her gaze on me fiercely. "When that gong sounds, all hell is gonna break loose. Grab whatever is close to you and run, OK? Run!"

"I will," I say.

"And above all, find water. Food is important but not as much as water is."

"OK."

"Run fast for me, OK? And for your little fairy friends," she adds with a half-smile.

I nod.

"And I'll say hi to our mockingjays back home, all right?"

I sniff and nod again.

Adriana kisses my cheek, rises, hugs Thresh with a soft "Goodbye," and leaves.

I'm overcome by fear and panic and sadness and I crumple to the ground, staring straight ahead, hugging my elbows close to me, tears running down my face but no sound coming out of my mouth. My mind is on fast forward, spinning and writhing with mixed thoughts of home, my family, Katniss, death, the arena, my family, death, home, the arena, Katniss, over and over again, all muddled and blurring together.

Eventually, with a strained sigh, Thresh picks me up as if I'm lighter than an empty nest, and takes me to my bedroom. He deposits me on my bed and goes to leave. This snaps me out of my frightening nightmare for the moment. "Wait!" I cry, stumbling off my bed and running to him. He looks at me, puzzled. I launch myself onto him in a hug. "Little girl," he says in a tight voice, trying to wriggle out of my grip.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I know you don't want to be friends and I understand why now and I think you're right and I know I shouldn't be doing this but I just wanted a hug from someone from home since I can't see my family ever again and I know I could go see Adriana one last time but that would be selfish and she's not the same now that she's been to the Capitol so many times and I know this is selfish too but you're the only one here who is enough like home for me and I'm sorry!"

I'm scared Thresh would cast me aside, but I'm also surprised when his arms go around me and he hugs me back. "Stay in the trees like at home, all right, little girl?" His chest rumbles under my ear.

I nod once. "I promise."

"Good." He lets me go and straightens up. "Bye." He opens the door and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.

This is it. My last night of safety. Possibly my last night ever. Tomorrow the Games will start.

Tomorrow it all begins.


	16. Chapter 16: I Hate Feeling Sick

**[A/N] *trumpets sound* This is the special chapter! (Meaning it's the extra-long chapter.) These chapters are going to get a lot longer, as promised, which will mean they might take a bit longer to write. Good news: I'm reading The Hunger Games for the fifth time, so my passion will be renewed, and I will write more quickly. So, thanks to all my lovely devoted readers - I would HUG YOU ALL if I could. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**(P.S. I'm having quite a bit of difficulty writing chapter 18, what with the keep-having-to-refer-to-the-book-for-details and such. I'm trying, but it's kinda like one of those annoying 1000-piece puzzles that more often than not are left on the floor for years, incomplete. But I will perservere, and chapter 18 will be done before it gets to that gathering-cobwebs stage!)**

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As much as I try — as much as I squeeze my eyes shut for minutes at a time — as much as I force myself to sleep — sleep never comes. I toss. I turn. I lie on my back. My side. My other side. My stomach. Half off the bed. On the floor. With my feet at the head of the bed and my head at the foot of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Curled into a ball. Lying out flat. Like a stick. Like a starfish. Nothing works. I'm shaking all over, but I'm not cold. I feel like a bird knowing a feral cat is stalking it: absolutely terrified, but not knowing what to do. Do I fly away? Do I ignore it, hope for the best, and calm myself down?

My breaths are coming in short, panicked gasps and my heart is beating too fast, which is making me dizzy and even more confused. I claw at my pajama top, as if I can rip out my heart to slow it down. The fear is like water dripping into a pot — with each minute, more fills me. I wonder if maybe I'll go insane before I even get into the arena. It's not uncommon for tributes to go mad while in the arena, but before? I might be the first.

I try singing a song, one I make up on the spot, humming wordlessly. I realize soon that the tune is creepy and eerie, so I stop. I feel claustrophobic, as if walls of darkness are gradually closing in on me. Finally, when I can't take it anymore, I burst out of my room and run onto the roof of the Training Centre. As soon as I'm up there, I know I'm not alone. Two figures, one male and one female — tributes, obviously — are leaning against the railing, talking. I dive behind a stray box in fear of discovery, but too desperate to enter the building again.

I eavesdrop in on the conversation. The boy is in the middle of speaking. "...your family?"

"No," the girl says. Immediately I know it's Katniss, so the boy must be Peeta. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." She pauses. "I really am sorry about your hands." His hands? What happened to his hands? And why is Katniss apologizing about them?

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta says tiredly. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."

"That's no way to be thinking," Katniss chides him.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and . . ." Peeta hesitates.

"And what?" Katniss prompts.

"I don't know how to say it exactly. Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks. Katniss says nothing, but obviously makes some sort of indication that she doesn't. Well, it makes no sense to me. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not," Peeta explains. Still not making a lot of sense there, Peeta, I think dryly. What is he going on about?

Katniss is silent for a while. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks eventually.

"No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to... to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games." What is he saying? He's daydreaming. We all want never to be a part of these Games, but that's just the way things are.

As if reading my mind, Katniss says, "But you're not. None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"OK, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," Peeta insists. "Don't you see?" No. No I don't. There's him and Katniss and me in the Games and all the other tributes, but we can't not be a 'piece in their Games'. My mind is spinning. What is he _saying_? If a sixteen-year-old can't grasp the concept, then what are the chances of me understanding?

"A little," Katniss says. "Only . . . no offence, but who cares, Peeta?"

"I do," Peeta says so passionately that it's on the verge of anger. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?"

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive," Katniss says flatly.

"OK. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." 'Sweetheart'? What kind of a nickname is that?

"Look," Katniss says, sounding frustrated, "if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve."

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," says Peeta. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?" The way he says it, so emotionlessly as if it were a harmless statement, sends a chill through me.

"Count on it," Katniss snaps. I hear footsteps coming towards me so I shrink away from them. Katniss strides past me and down the stairs. I wait a few seconds, check Peeta's not looking, and go to slip down the stairs after her, but Peeta's voice stops me.

"I know you're there," he says. I freeze, holding my breath.

"I'm not mad. Come on," he prompts me.

Guiltily, I slink from the shadows. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just couldn't stay inside any longer."

"That's OK." Peers turns around and smiles gently. "You worried about tomorrow?"

I hesitate. If I tell him the truth, will I be branded a weakling?

"That's all right. You don't have to tell me," he says.

I change the subject. "Did you mean what you said? About the... not being a piece in the Games?"

Peeta nods. "If you don't stand for something, then what's the point of living?"

"You know you can't go around telling people that," I say suspiciously. "You'll get killed."

Peeta shrugs. "I'll get killed anyway. It doesn't matter now." He gestures for me to come closer with, to my shock, a bandaged hand. "What happened? Are you OK?" I ask.

"I'm fine," he mutters, turning his injured hands over as if inspecting them.

Uneasily, I edge closer to him so I'm about a foot away. Peeta smiles as if this amuses him. "What?" I say.

"That's what Katniss did," he says. He faces the bustling Capitol again, forcing me to stand next to him to hear his words. "She wants to be your ally, you know, I think. You remind her so much of her sister. She looks at you the same way she looks at her sister."

"My mentor said I look like Prim," I say.

"You do. But it's your personality, at least I think, that makes you extra special to Katniss. She wants to protect you." He looks at me, studying my reaction. He's fairly handsome, I suppose, with his caring blue eyes, wavy gold hair and soft-set mouth. I don't know what to say. I mean, I'm glad Katniss wants me as an ally.

"So, did you mean what you said during the interview?" I ask. "With the... you know..."

Peeta gives a small laugh. "I suppose I was quite off-putting, huh?"

I shake my head. "No, not off-putting. Just it was unexpected. It was risky."

"Yeah. It was. It was risky," he says. He hangs his head, not in a sad way. "I had to risk it, though. Haymitch said it'll help. Give some excitement."

"But did you mean it?" I press.

Peeta looks up again and is silent for a while. "Yes," he says softly. "From the moment I laid eyes on her, when we were five, I knew I loved her. We were only barely in Kindergarten." He chuckles darkly and shakes his head. "I know she doesn't feel the same way about me. But hopefully it'll play to our advantage on the arena."

"How do you know she doesn't love you?" I ask.

"She was very angry with me after the interviews. She, uh, she shoved me." He glances at his hands. "Said it made her look weak. She apologized for it, of course. It's illegal to hurt another tribute before you're in the arena." He sighs. "But she has her hunting friend. She loves him."

"You don't know that," I say gently. "She could, well, love him, but not be _in_ love with him, maybe." There's something about Peeta that makes me want to comfort him.

He smiles defeatedly. "All the girls adore him. He's handsome, too, and sullen, and a rebel. Apparently that's attractive." He shrugs hopelessly. "He — Gale, his name is – and Katniss go off hunting in the woods outside the fence every day together. At home everyone believes that they'll get married when they're old enough."

I sigh. "No one knows, really. What the future holds." By that I mean that we could all be dead and no one will be marrying anyone.

"No," Peeta agrees. "No, they don't."

We watch the Capitol streets in silence. Eventually I say, "Do you really think you won't survive?"

Peeta shakes his head. "I don't have a prayer. I'm a baker. The hardest part of my life was burning my hands on the oven. Hardly a fighter."

"Well, I picked fruit," I say. It's almost funny that we're using past tense as if our whole lives were many, many years ago. It feels like it.

Peeta chuckles. "Did you get to at least eat the fruit?"

"No way," I say. "It was all taken to the Capitol. What a waste!" I shake my head shamefully. "What about you? Did you get to eat your bread?"

"Only the unsellable products. Bread gone stale, bread we burnt."

Silence follows. "Are you scared?" I whisper after a while.

"I'm trying not to think about it, actually."

"Sorry."

"That's all right."

More silence. "You should get some sleep," Peeta says.

"I can't go back down there," I say urgently. "I have to stay up here or I think I'll go mad. Literally."

"One of my brothers said that a lot. 'Literally'," Peeta comments. "It got annoying after a while."

"Do you miss your brothers?"

"Of course. Don't you miss your sisters?"

"You remember me saying that?" I ask.

"Yeah, I guess I do. It must've been hard, growing up with so much responsibility resting on your shoulders."

I shrug. "Not really. I love my sisters more than anyone. More than life itself."

"If..." He takes a deep breath. "When I die, and if Katniss dies, I want you to be the one to win. Because of what you mean to Katniss."

I smile. "Thanks. Likewise."

"Thanks."

I laugh once. "I think we both know we probably won't last long."

"Yeah," Peeta nods. We laugh, and it's a dark laugh, one that says we've accepted our fate. "But don't stop fighting," Peeta says. He looks at me, his blue eyes fierce and determined. "Don't give up."

"I won't. Not ever. Don't you give up either," I counter.

Peeta doesn't say anything for a while. "I'll keep fighting for what I believe is right."

I pause. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's what I'll do." He straightens up and sighs. "I think I'll head back down. No good if neither of us get any sleep."

"No," I agree. "Bye, Peeta. It's been nice talking to you."

"Goodnight, Rue. Good luck."

"You too."

He turns around and walks away.

I sigh. After a few more minutes I decide to try my luck at sleeping again, and head down to floor Eleven and then to bed.

I make like Peeta and not think about tomorrow. Instead, I recall memories of my family. Playing with my sisters, helping Mom in the kitchen...

My daydreams soon become dreams.

The next morning I struggle to hold the nerves back. I check the clock. Oh, it's only three in the morning. I've only slept for about four and a half hours. I shut my eyes but I'm not sleepy at all now. It takes me less than two seconds to realise I'm awake for good. With a groan, I get up and have a shower and wrap myself in a dressing gown. I couldn't be bothered yet to get dressed. The mere thought of what's in store for me is enough to make my heart double its pace so I distract myself to no ends. Mostly I talk to thin air, very loudly, concentrating intently on every word I say.

"I WONDER WHAT I SHOULD WEAR TODAY. OSSIAN MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING FOR ME. I HOPE IT'S WARM, IT LOOKS A BIT COLD OUTSIDE. OH WAIT, THAT'S BECAUSE THE SUN ISN'T UP YET. OH WELL. I'VE WORKED THIS EARLY PLENTY OF TIMES BEFORE. IT MAKES IT A BIT TRICKY TO SEE WHAT I'M TAKING. THEY DON'T GIVE US NIGHT-VISION GOGGLES UNLESS IT'S NIGHTTIME. NOT IN THE MORNING. IT WOULD'VE BEEN HELPFUL IF THEY HAD. IF THEY DID—"

A knock at the door makes me yelp in shock. "Come in?"

The door opens to reveal a sleepy-looking, unhappy Ossian leaning against the doorjamb. "What are you doing?" he growls, his wolf ears flattening with hostility.

"I'm... I'm..." I stammer.

"Look," he says, closing his eyes and rubbing a paw across his face, "I was supposed to collect you at dawn but seeing as you're so ready to roll, what with your ridiculous screaming and waking up the entire building, I suppose, to shut you up, we'll start now. Wait here."

He leaves then comes back with an armful of clothes. "Put these on. You won't be wearing these in the Games; you'll put that on when you're in the catacombs below the arena."

He tosses the clothes on my bed. I dress quickly. Ossian makes a low, animalistic snarl of irritation — still not happy about being woken up, I guess — and exits without another word. I try to keep both my mouth and my mind quiet but soon I resort to yelling at myself again.

Dawn gradually creeps into existence and Ossian comes to get me. Yawning and regretting my insomnia, I follow him out to the roof. A hovercraft materializes out of nowhere above us, a ladder drops down, and Ossian instructs me to grab on. As soon as I touch the ladder my hands are somehow immediately glued onto the rungs and I couldn't've let go of it even if I wanted to. I'm raised to the hovercraft and, still somehow stuck to the ladder, a woman comes over to me holding a deadly-looking syringe. "Sorry, Rue," she says. "This is your tracker. It'll sting for just a moment."

If I could've jumped in pain I would have as the thick syringe is inserted on my forearm. The current holding me in place is released. I frown and run my finger over to lump where the tracker was inserted. "Ow," I mumble grumpily as the woman vanishes and Ossian is picked up from the roof. An Axov leads us to a room where breakfast has been set up. I stand at the door, looking stunned but feeling more than a little distressed. As the hovercraft takes off, all I want to do is throw myself out the window and onto the nearest train home. As I take a seat I think my teeth begin to chatter. This strange, hollow feeling that's settled in the pit of my stomach is steadily spreading throughout my entire body. I have a serious case of jitters, so raw and intense I can almost taste it; metallic and foul. Or maybe that's just my blood from where I bit my cheek in an attempt to stop shivering.

"Eat up, Rue-bird," Ossian says, gesturing to the meal. Robotically, I take a bread roll and rip off a piece, shoving it into my mouth. I choke a bit, but force myself to swallow it. This is basically how I eat the rest of the meal. By the end I'm gagging. Even so, I take a freezing cold glass of water in my equally-as-cold hand, and tip its contents into my mouth. I swear it's a form of self-torture. I'm half crying as I swallow the water. I feel sick. I clutch the table, coughing and sobbing pathetically without any tears.

"Rue-bird, Rue-bird, Rue-bird," Ossian tuts, shaking his head shamefully. "That's no way to behave."

I ignore him. My stomach is still rolling, but the sobbing has subsided. Already worn out, I whimper and drop my head on the table, just resting for a while, panting. Weakly, I look outside at the view. Birds swoop and dive merrily nearby, like they do at home. "Take me with you," I want to say. "Give me wings so I can be free. Please."

But that's just ridiculous.

The ride, although only half an hour, feels like it takes days. Then the windows black out. We must be above or near the arena.

Ossian and I take the ladder down a tube to where the catacombs lie in waiting. We're directed to our chambers. Ossian opens the door and announces, "Welcome, Rue-bird, to the Launch Room."

In the districts we call the Launch Room the Stockyard: the place where animals go before they die. It's the first and only time this room will be used as a Launch Room. Each arena is preserved and turned into an attraction. You can see where each tribute died, and even see reenactments. A great family vacation.

I'm in danger of hyperventilating as I shower again and brush my teeth. Ossian braids my hair back and hands me the clothes I'll be wearing in the arena. Underclothes, sensible green top, long tawny-coloured pants, thick dark brown belt, a hooded black zip-up jacket that falls around my thighs, skintight socks and flexible leather boots. My hand goes to Mom's necklace at my throat. The entire time I've been in the Capitol, it's been secured comfortingly around my neck.

"It'll be cold at night and hot in the day," Ossian says. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Maybe. I'm not allowed to share any information."

"Do I get a 'good luck'?" I ask weakly.

Ossian doesn't look pleased. "What you get is advice," he growls. "Quit overreacting. Take a breath, get your act together, and keep your head screwed on."

"I'm about to be sent out there against those monsters and I'll pretty much definitely die!" I cry, frustrated with his emotionless attitude.

"If you think like that you'll die for sure. What you need to do is STOP whining, STOP worrying and GET a GRIP on yourself. Your little family wouldn't want you behaving this idiotically," he snaps. "Now shut up, walk in a circle to make sure everything fits well, and eat some more food!"

My eyes are swimming with angry and distraught tears as I stomp around in a circle. "You're acting like a child," Ossian snarls. "Walk properly!"

I do as he says, swinging my arms in circles. "It's fine," I mutter.

"Is it perfect?"

"Yes," I snap.

"Then all right. Eat something else and wait until you're called." Irritation briefly overriding nerves, I devour a bread roll and chug down a glass of water.

When I'm done I have nothing to distract me and terror soon sweeps in as my imagination begins to run amuck. It's not even my imagination, really — it's basic facts. I could be dead in less than half an hour. Never having a faint hope of seeing my sisters and mom again. Dead. Cold. Alone. Looking but not seeing. The human body is so fragile. All it takes is a deep cut, or a knife to the back or throat. Even a mere stick could end my life in a split second. All over. The daunting prospect is so terrifying I think I stop breathing and I feel lightheaded. It takes the majority of my concentration to keep my lungs working from then on.

I'm on my own in the sense of support. Ossian is combing through his tail with his claws distractedly, appearing in no shape of mind to chat.

I clench and unclench my fists nervously, then turn to clicking my fingers and tapping my toes. I'm bobbing up and down in my seat, which doesn't help my churning stomach, but I know I wouldn't be able to stop even if I tried.

"Will you stop doing that?" Ossian drawls irritably.

"No," I reply. The word is sharp and quick.

Ossian rolls his wolfish eyes and takes out a nail file to polish his claws.

Both too soon and not soon enough, a pleasant Capitol voice tells us to move to the launch pad. My legs are shaking so violently I almost collapse when I put my weight onto my feet, but I force myself to stay upright. I focus my mind on my family: what they'll be thinking if they see my broken expression, how they'll be praying for me to get it together. For them, for my sisters and my mom, I suck in a deep breath, set my jaw, hold my head high, and stand on the circular launch pad.


	17. Chapter 17: Let the Games Begin!

**[A/N] This is it! The chapter we've all been waiting for (inculding me). The next chapter, as I've said before, will be quite difficult to write, with the timing and everything, e.g. I'll have to keep referring back to the book to make sure Rue sees the Capitol seal in the sky the same time Katniss does in the book, etc. But I'll do my best. Also, I'll be overseas for the next two weeks from Friday 1/7. I'll keep writing, but I'm not sure I'll be able to get anything online. Hope you like chapter 17! And may the odds be _ever _in your favour!**

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I stare Ossian down for the few moments that I'm unmoving on the launch pad.

"Bye, Ossian," I say coldly.

"I hope your death is painless," he replies, which I think is one of the nicest things he's said to me. Still, it's not actually very nice.

"Go die in a hole," I say back calmly with a smile, which I think is the meanest thing I've said to anybody, ever, in my life.

A glass cylinder descends over me, and as I begin to rise up on the pad, Ossian begins to laugh. A big, hearty laugh, one that I can't actually hear. Ossian waves goodbye and says through his laughter, "Good luck, Rue-bird."

"Bye!" I shout, grinning and waving back. Then he's gone and I'm in darkness. OK, terrific, I've made a new buddy to lose again when I die. I can feel myself being pushed up by the launch pad and in what I guess is only a few seconds but feels like minutes, I'm in the clear and the arena stretches before me. Its scent — pine — hits my nose and the light pierces my eyes and a strong wind buffets me and blows stray bits of my hair back. I shield my face with my hand and squint into the sunlight. A booming voice, Claudius Templesmith's, the famous Hunger Games announcer, echoes through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

We get one minute to inspect our surroundings. If we step off our launch pads before that, mines blow us up. Boom, dead before the Games start. My hand goes to my necklace as my heart bangs against my ribcage as if trying to break out.

Look, Rue, I think to myself. Make a plan.

Stuff is strewn everywhere, stuff that will help us survive in the arena, increasing in life-saving value the closer they are to the Cornucopia. The Cornucopia is a gigantic gold horn shaped like a basket with a curved tail, about forty yards away. Things spill from its mouth. I spy plenty of deadly-looking weapons piled up high, but lots of other things too. A tent. Backpacks stuffed with food and medicine. Bottles of water. At my feet, just over an arm's reach away, is a pair of socks.

The tributes' metal plates and the Cornucopia are sitting on a hard, flat, dusty, bare surface. A way away is a pine forest, which would explain the smell. To my left the ground drops. I don't know if it disappears into a cliff or if it's just a steep slope, and I don't have enough time to check. Diagonally right, a lake.

The tributes are equidistant from each other, in a circle around the Cornucopia. I make a quick check as to who I'm next to. Not Thresh, not Katniss. Thresh is I don't know where and Katniss is a few down from me. This will be tricky. I want to keep an eye on her, see where she's going so I can make a move to ally her, but I have my own life to take care of right now. I centre myself. Adriana's parting words to me bounce around in my skull. "When that gong sounds, all hell is gonna break loose. Grab whatever is close to you and run, OK? Run!"

I said I would. And I will. But then I see a slingshot, lying only a few more feet closer to the Cornucopia and in front of the tribute next to me, beside to a small bag of what I guess is ammunition, and I think, I'm getting that. That slingshot has my name on it. Butterflies begin to sprout in my stomach and flutter around like maniacs. I'm going to do it, I'm going to run for the slingshot.

The gong sounds and I'm momentarily too scared to move. But after a terrifying second of being frozen to the metal plate, I lurch forward and snatch the socks from the ground. I make towards the slingshot, but no! The other tribute — a light boy, no idea from which district — is getting closer! "No!" I gasp, and run hard, hoping that somehow I can shoulder him out of the way. I throw myself at him as he reaches a hand down. He stumbles sideways, more surprised than knocked. My heart is hammering with fear and adrenaline. The tribute regains his balance as I grab my loot. He comes after me, and I don't have time to move before he tackles me to the ground. He sits on my arms, driving his knees into my shoulders. I cry out and writhe around, trying to escape.

I grip the slingshot and ammo bag tightly and he pries on finger away at a time. "No," I grunt hopelessly, struggling more. The tribute boy now the bag.

I open my mouth a scream as loud as I can. I don't know why; maybe I'm attempting to confuse him. The tribute slaps me across the face but I keep screaming. "Shut the hell up," he shouts in my face, slapping me harder. Stars dance before my eyes.

I kick my legs as best I can. "Stop. Moving," the boy growls, wriggling further down my body to still my legs. This means he only has his hands to hold my torso down, and nothing holding my hands. I clench my fist and swing at his face. He dodges easily and grabs my wrist with his free hand. His weight is crushing my legs.

The tribute shoves my hand under his knee so he can get the slingshot from my other. I wriggle my hand out and with a shriek, claw at his face. Slashes from my fingernails sprout on his cheek, immediately blossoming blood. Suddenly, a dark, massive fist comes in contact with the side of his head and he falls off me, limp and unconscious. A rock as large as my skull is dropped onto the tribute's head. With a sickening crunch, it crumples part of his head in. Blood spews from the wound. My breakfast threatens to make a reappearance as I look towards my apparent saviour.

"Thresh?" I breathe.

Thresh grabs my arm and hoists me to my feet, then snags the ammunition bag from the dead boy's fingers and throws it to me. He has a gash along his bicep that's bleeding none too lightly. "Run, little girl. Go! Now!" he shouts, shoving me. I take off like a bat out of hell. In this case, almost literally. As promised by Adriana, all hell as broken loose. Blood is flying, people are dying. I steer myself around the mess as much as possible, but a battling pair stagger in front of me. I don't know who they are. The boy throws himself on top of the girl. I skid to a halt a right in front of them, fear-stricken. The girl struggles under the boy's weight. "No," she begs as the boy raises a bloodied knife. "No, no, please—" Her words are cut off by the knife being driven into her throat, so far that it probably goes into the ground under her. The girl makes a horrible gurgling sound, her eyes roll into the back of her head, and is still. Blood covers her neck like sauce covers food. I'm frozen until the boy yanks his knife out. He hasn't seen me yet. I scramble away, around him as he looks behind him and rises to his feet.

My momentum has thrown my heart into my throat. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I'm almost there! Then a spear lands in front of me, thunk. I leap a foot backwards and whip my head to my right to find the source of the spear. A Career. And he's holding another one. A strangled cry rips from my throat and I start sprinting again. The home stretch. I look behind me to find a spear flying towards me. I skid to an abrupt halt and dive to the left. The spear lands firmly in the earth a few feet in front of me. If I hadn't stopped, then I would have been impaled. I can't resist the impulse to scream out, "Stop it!" before I scrabble to my feet and keep going. I don't think to grab the spear from the ground, eliminating it as a threat and giving me a slight edge. All I want is to get out of there and never go back.

As I'm running as clumsily as a startled deer as I charge through the pine trees. I'm expecting an awaiting tribute to pounce on me and sick me on the spot. A terrorized whimper bubbles up from my chest and I clamber up a tree. Most of those tributes would be too heavy to scale this tree but for extra measure I climb as high as my weight allows me. I settle in a convenient fork and set my slingshot in my lap. I empty my pockets. OK, so: no food, no water, but something to keep me warm and something to defend myself with. Except no ammunition. I guess I'll have to find something. I hear a gentle twitter near my ear and I look up to find a curious mockingjay hopping around one the branch. I smile and whistle to it softly. It pauses, listening, puzzled. I whistle again. After another hesitation, it warbles the tune back to me. This gives me comfort, especially when other mockingjays nearby pick up the tune. I realize the birds are everywhere. At least that's something normal in this game.

I try to slow my breathing, which is coming in shallow pants and making me dizzy, to a normal pace. When that's done, I sort out my panicked mental babble. Right. So. I survived the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia now, but the deaths aren't yet being counted, so technically I'm not totally in the clear. As of now, water is a top priority for me.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. All right, Rue, I think to myself. What are you going to do now?

I'm not very far from the Cornucopia. In fact, I'm quite close. Close enough that I can hear some of the Career's bellowing, bossy voices. Well, one voice. Male. I can only just make out some of the words. Most of them are insults.

I wait, balancing on my toes and leaning against the tree, all packed up and ready to run if need be. But it's not necessary. Because under me, loaded with weapons and light packs, the Careers march through the trees. I don't move, don't make a sound. There are eight of them as usual, and two of them at the front and the back are keeping a watchful eye out for potential attackers — the pretty blonde one from District One waving around her bow and arrows at the back of the pack, and the boy with the spears who tried to kill me earlier poised to fire at the front. The girl — Glimmer, I think her name is — is clearly inexperienced with the bow. I can't say I'm a master, but she's pulling back the string in an odd way and holding the bow at a strange angle.

My foot is slipping a little so as quietly as I can I shift it. The leaves on the branch rustle slightly. I freeze, holding my breath. Then Glimmer turns around and aims her bow and arrow right at me.


	18. Chapter 18: Huntress

**[A/N] What can I say. It's done. I'd say it's been tough, which it has, but mostly it was due to my procrastinating nature. I'll admit it - I was slack. By the way, I recommend reading the last chapter if your memory is as bad as mine is. Again, I'm sorry. Thanks for all your support, the twenty-two gorgeous people who tagged this as one of their favourite stories, and the thirty-six reviews. A special thanks goes out to SnerverusSnapers, who has left eight reviews on this story, and WingCommanderArnicaVinyaya, who is my beautiful and unwaveringly faithful and supportive _beta_. I heart you! And now: what can I do but apologise, stop babbling out excuses, and let you read on?**

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Almost as if automatically, the rest of the Careers halt immediately and raise their weapons, their heads whipping left and right to seek out the danger. I suck in a breath and try to not move at all, not even my heart, because its beating seems too loud in this tense silence. "What is it, One?" the biggest boy, the one from Two, hisses.

"I thought I heard someone," the girl labeled under 'One' murmurs, not looking directly at me now, but sweeping the tree with her eyes, a perplexed frown on her face. I do my best to blend in with the branches and leaves.

"You thought?" the boy repeats scathingly. "We can't stop every time you hear a damn bird."

'One' shushes him and peers closer at my tree.

Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me, I'm begging in my mind. "I could've sworn..." 'One' mutters, frowning deeper. She shrugs and turns back to the massive guy. "False alarm. For once in your life you were right, Two."

'Two' scowls at 'One'. "Let's keep moving," he orders, adjusting his grip on the deadly-looking knife in his hand. "We've already lost enough time." He faces the front and moves on, with the rest of the Careers.

A few seconds after they've gone I thaw out, gradually lowering myself onto the ground. I take a moment or two to make sure no one is around before tightening my hand around the slingshot and, treading as softly as I can, head after the Careers.

It's not easy. I have to be as silent as I can, and keep myself well out of view the entire time, in case one of them turns around, which they do frequently. And I have to keep a large distance between us. A couple of times I lose them for a while, but soon I find them again.

It's terribly hard work. I keep wondering when they'll stop and rest. But they walk on and on and on, eating and drinking water as they go to stay energized. Me, on the other hand — I have nothing like that. I slink along behind them, panting and clutching my aching stomach. Finally, the Careers take a break. They all sit down, against trees or lying on their packs, as if they're just a group of friends hanging out on the weekend. Well, friends prepared to kill each other in the blink of an eye. Relaxed and confident.

I have to do something. Steal some food, or water, or... or... or something. I can't go following them for no reason. Maybe I can take one out. With difficulty, I haul myself up a tree and inch painfully slowly closer to them. I load my slingshot with some of the special ammo, take aim at the boy from Four, pull the elastic back as far as it would go, and loose it.

I was hoping to simply knock the boy out — after all, I doubted the small metal ball would be able to smash through the boy's skull like it did. There's screaming and panic amongst the Careers as the boy slumps over, blood gushing from his head. He's obviously dead. No one reacts beyond a flash of pain lighting up his district partner's sharp features.

Then One squeals. "Ew! Some of it's on my bag! Ew ew ew get it off!"

Two rolls his eyes. "Get rid of it," he orders some other Careers, gesturing to the body of the dead boy.

I lower my slingshot, breathing heavily. There's a strange buzzing in my ears and the voices below me are muffled as if I'm underwater. I just killed someone. That boy's family will be crying. His friends will be distraught. Maybe he has a girlfriend who will weep over him. And I just killed him. He's dead. Dead...

I'm shaking and a cold sweat has broken out over my body. The Careers have gotten their act together. Two of them are moving the body away so the hovercraft can collect him— I mean it— I mean...

The rest of them have an impressive array of weapons drawn, aimed in all directions. "Come out!" 'Two' shouts. "You coward."

I don't dare to breathe. What have I done? I've angered the Careers. Now I'm dead for even more certain!

The mockingjays decorating the trees suddenly cease their songs, all but one, who sings a high-pitched note. I'm not sure what happens, but soon the birds pick up where they left off as if nothing occurs.

After maybe ten minutes of intimidating weapon-waving, 'Two' lowers his machete. "They must've run off by now," he says.

The rest of Careers immediately lower their guards. The girl from Four sniffs. She was obviously putting on a brave face before.

"Oh, shut up," 'One' snaps at her.

"My district partner just died and you want me to forget about it?" the girl says in a dangerous, low voice. She raises her throwing knives and points one at a boy. "How about I kill One and _you_ just forget about it, huh?" she yells. They must be naming each other after their districts. Two Ones, two Twos, one Four. Gee, I'm sure that's not confusing...

The Careers restrain her as One (the boy) raises his hands defensively and moves backward. The other One snarls, "Don't you dare!"

Two massages his face. "Honestly, the lot of you are a bunch of idiots!" he yells. My first thought is that this guy has anger management issues. He points at the sniveling Four. "You, forget about what happened and get a grip on yourself, woman." He points at (girl) One. "You, stop being such a little b..." He cuts himself off, sets his jaw and swallows down what I'm sure would have been a particularly unpleasant name. "Just _get_ up, _get_ your act together, and _get moving_, people!"

He shrugs his backpack onto his shoulders and trudges off. His district partner flits after him loyally.

I swallow. My mouth is dry as a bone. But with a grim determination, I continue to follow the Careers. The next time they rest it is getting dark and my head is pounding. My body is screaming for water. My head feels like it's a bubble enclosing over a mine — big, hollow and going to explode at any moment. The Careers appear quite comfortable. They haven't come across anyone yet, but they want to keep searching.

Then, in the late afternoon, the Capitol seal appears in the sky. I can barely look at it, at the faces of the dead that follow, but I do. One, two, three, four... Eleven. I contributed to that.

I risk sneaking closer to the Careers, keeping as quiet as I can, and when one of them aren't looking, I reach my hand over to them and snatch their small water skin next to them, then quickly retreat to a safer distance. The water skin is pretty much full — they must be using something else for water. I force myself to take only three sips. I don't know how long this will have to last me.

Now I'm a little more hydrated, but I'm still starving. That will have to wait, though, because the Careers are up and moving again.

But I don't follow this time. What's the point? It's only a bigger risk. If I want to catch up to them later I will — I guess they're just walking in a straight line, searching for tributes to slaughter. Instead I wait till I can't hear them anymore, then start to find food. Now that I look, I realize that there is plenty of food that I eat at home lying around. Berries. Roots. Easy food. I gather as much as I can and eat until I'm no longer starving. Mockingjays sing melodies to each other and it fills me with peace. This so far isn't so bad. I have a weapon, water, food... What could go wrong at this point?

I start to walk in the direction of the Careers when a wave of guilt washes over me. The boy I murdered. I can't even bare to think about him. What did I do? I shouldn't have. It was wrong. This is wrong. It's awful. I'm sorry, I want to say to the boy's loved ones. I'm so, so, so sorry. Here, take my life instead. If the situation was reversed, the boy would have probably killed me without any regrets, but I'm not him. I have human feelings.

I continue after the Careers. My hands are full; I wish I took a backpack or something too. Well, hopefully I'll get the chance again.

I don't think I'll ever catch up to them again, I think as I walk. I've been walking for hours. The sky is darkening. No trace of the Careers anywhere.

I give up after a while. This whole concept of me being hunted hasn't quite hit me yet, but even still, I make sure I'm high up in a tree before I settle down to sleep. Now that I've stopped moving around, the cold is creeping through me. I zip up my jacket tightly and pull the hood over my head. This helps, but I'm still shivering — my teeth are still chattering. Grin and bear it, Rue, I think miserably. Just grin and bear it.

I wake early the next morning after a restless night, my body screaming for water. I take another sip from my water skin, and stagger to my feet. The earth in front of me swoops a little before settling. I squint up at the already blazing sun. What time is it?

I pull my hair out of its ponytail and tie it back up again. What now, Rue? Make a plan.

I stare around me hopelessly. A plan. OK.

After a minute I still have nothing. My brain is slow and foggy, and besides, there's basically nothing to do out here. I know where food is. I guess I can search for water. Yes. All right. I'll do that.

I start my journey in the direction that the Careers were heading in yesterday. Hey, it's all I have to go on. I don't ri The sun keeps on getting hotter and hotter, and I'm dehydrating more and more. If I wasn't used to working in the blistering heat for hours on end at home, I would have given up by now. Even still, I don't have much energy left in me. I eat lots of berries, using their juice as miniature fruity drinks as well as my rapidly dwindling supply of water from my water skin.

Eventually, though, my skin full of water becomes a skin filled with only a single drop left. I hold it above my open mouth, shaking it desperately. Nothing. While my head is tilted upwards, I spy a wasp's nest above me. There are large wasps buzzing around it busily, their pure gold bodies glinting in the blazing heat. Uh-oh. I know those creatures anywhere. Tracker jackers.

I make sure to avoid those nests from now on. Surely there must be a remedy around if I get stung. The leaves everyone calls anti-sting leaves. Leaves that stop the pain of the tracker jacker venom. I glance around for them, but I can't find any now. Besides, my body and brain aren't functioning properly. I probably swept my gaze over them a few times and didn't even notice.

I raise my head to the sky. Why isn't Adriana helping me? Was her kindness all an act? No. It couldn't have been. She was so sincere.

"Help," I whisper. "Pl—" I have to swallow before I try again. My mouth is like sandpaper and my tongue feels swollen. "Plea—" I cough. Third time lucky. "Please!" I say as loudly as I can without shouting. I wait. And wait. And wait.

Nothing. No silver parachute.

My heart squeezes. I want to go home! I hate this!

I drag my feet over to a bush of berries and wrap my fist around a small cluster, yanking it off as well as some leaves, and shove it into my mouth. I spit out the leaves and stalks and almost swallow the berries whole. It isn't much. My body is still craving water.

I plough on, struggling but managing. If I don't think about it, my thirst doesn't seem so bad. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Why isn't Adriana helping me? Is Aurelius not letting her? Is she choosing not to? Thoughts chase each other in circles in my head. I'm having to take breaks more and more constantly, and I'm finding it harder and harder to get back up again. My wonder berries are only just keeping me on my feet.

Night begins to fall, and the cold comes with it — almost suddenly, as if a blanket of ice was dropped on the arena. I start to shiver as I walk. But I'm not giving up.

The Capitol seal illuminates the sky, but I ignore it. I don't want to see how many more people are dead and gone. I really should, to see how many adversaries I have left, but I can't bring myself to raise my face to the photos in the sky.

It's growing darker by the second, and soon I can't see a meter ahead of me. So it takes me by surprise when I slip into a puddle of mud. I can't get up again. My eyes close and I give myself up.

Then I realize.

Mud equals dirt plus water.

My eyes fly open and I shakily get to my knees, crawling frantically forward and collapsing half a meter on. I drag myself along until my fingers splash into a shallow pool of water. Water! I bring my face to the edge of the pool and shove my entire head in. I know it could be dangerous for me to drink dirty water, but right now I don't care, and besides, what do I have to purify it?

I drink until I feel bloated like a barrel. I sit up and lean back against a tree, smiling widely. I can stay here for a while, I think. A snap of a twig makes my heart leap. More snaps. Now murmurs. People. Walking.

The Careers are hunting. And I'm right in their path.


	19. Chapter 19: On the Edge

**[A/N] God, it feels like forever since I've posted a new chapter. For a while the passion just left me, you know? The fire wasn't there anymore. But it's back, and here's the result. Chapter Twenty is already finished and is currently being edited and _beta_'ed and Chapter Twenty-One is well underway. My most heartfelt thanks goes out to you guys, my readers. Thanks for the reviews, the 30 people who favourited my baby, and everyone who's checked out Deep in the Meadow. You have no idea how excited I get when my phone _dings _and it's an email about Fanfiction. You maaaaaayyyy have to go back and check what last happened...  
So I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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**Chapter 19 **  
**On the Edge**

I don't know what to do. Run? No, they'll hear me. Stay still? No, they'll step on me. With less than a second to spare, I roll out of the way and leap up the nearest tree, scaling it like a possum. The Career who almost stepped on me leaps back, swinging his knife around the ground, missing my back by less than an inch. It cuts my jacket. "Oi! One!" a girl hisses. The girl from Four, I think. "What's the big deal?""There's something or someone here," he whispers. The other Careers look around. I hold my breath and keep my eyes downcast so they can't see me as easily. Bright light sweeps over me. Not again, Rue, I think miserably. You idiot. This isn't like you.

Eventually the Careers move on again. "Probably just an animal," One says. "My bad. Let's keep moving." They have torches, the flames flickering angrily.

They trudge on. Adrenaline is keeping me well awake and on my feet. I follow them, above them in the trees, as silently as I can. They don't seem suspicious. But there are six of them now. They've recruited someone else.

A gentle light appears off to the side, slightly behind them. Someone spies it and says, "Look! Over there!"The Careers grin. "It's huntin' time." Shock jolts through me. I recognize that voice. How couldn't I? It's the voice that changed the Games forever."Peeta," I breathe so quietly I'm not even sure I spoke it at all, the word shaking with my body because of the cold. How could he? I thought he loved Katniss. Why would he join the team that is so intent on killing her? Has he lost his mind?

I'm mad. Peeta is a horrible boy. The way he lied and manipulated Katniss like that... Unforgivable. Inexcusable. What a little brat.*I stalk the Careers as they lumber towards the fire. As we get closer, the light illuminates their features in an ugly and perverse way. Sickening glee. Grim determination. The faces of trained killers. The expression on Peeta's bruised and bloody face isn't any different as he limps along with his new pack. Who is he? Is he the kind, lovesick boy from District 12? Or a crazed murderer, a Career? He seemed gentle when I talked to him.

The Careers find a girl huddled next to a fire, asleep. They swarm over her. She wakes up and gasps, scrambling back. "No, please don't kill me," she pleads in a trembling voice. "Please! I'll do anything."The Four girl raises her knife, her mouth twisted up in a cruel smile. "Nighty-night," she says as if she was tucking a younger sister into bed.

The girl screams. I have to look away. I can hear the gruesome sound of the girl being stabbed and her falling to the ground. The Careers laugh and cheer. "'Nighty-night'," the girl from One teases her fellow Career."Aw, shut up, One, I felt I had to say something.""Twelve down and eleven to go!" the boy from One announces. The Careers hoot and whoop.

They crouch down and check the girl for supplies. "This girl sucks. She hasn't got anything," the girl from One complains."That's coz we got it all, sweet cheeks," her District partner says. I can imagine him saying with a One scoffs. "Not all of it.""Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Boy Two says. They stand up and start walking. I drop down from the trees to inspect the poor girl. The Careers haven't noticed that the cannon hasn't fired yet. She's still alive.

I crouch down next to her and with difficulty roll her onto her back. Her eyes are wide and glazed and her breath is coming in frantic little pants. "Don't worry," I whisper. "I won't hurt you."The Careers have realized their mistake. "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?""I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately.""Unless she isn't dead.""She's dead. I stuck her myself.""Then where's the cannon?""Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done.""Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice.""I said she's dead!"The begin to argue until Peeta shouts, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"He starts coming towards us. The girl dying on the ground is gasping for breath. I can't let her die seeing someone smiling as they dig their knife into her chest. She doesn't deserve it. I pull out my slingshot and take aim at the figure approaching me... with his hands, one holding a switched-off torch, held up in surrender.

I don't lower my weapon as Peeta comes forward, all signs of Career-like hatred vanished from his features without a trace. "Leave this girl alone, Peeta Mellark," I warn him, "or I swear I will fire this ball into your brain.""Rue," he says gently, "I'm not here to hurt anybody."I pull on the elastic harder. "You're a great liar. You've fooled the entire country with your lover-boy act. Leave. Now.""You think that was an act?" Peeta asks. He exhales sharply in frustration. "Rue, I would never lie to Katniss. I truly love her. Who would be twisted enough to lie about something so precious as love?""You tell me.""I'm lying to the Careers. To make sure they can't find Katniss. Rue, please believe me."I hesitate. Peeta comes towards me, brushing me aside and crouching beside the dying girl. I take a moment to get my bearings before I go to pounce on Peeta. "Get off her—"I realize he isn't causing her any harm. He's clutching her bloodied hand, whispering words to her that I can't catch. She is staring up at him, holding onto every word. Soon, her eyes slide shut, and her gasping silences. I stand there, too scared to move. Peeta carefully slips his hand from the girl's grasp and crosses it over her chest, and does the same with the other. "Rest in peace," he murmurs, pressing three fingers of his left hand to his lips and holding them out to her. Peeta rises and faces where the Careers are, through the trees. "Follow us if you want," he says in a flat voice. "But be careful."I nod. "Thank you, Peeta."Peeta glances at the ground in front of him. "If you find Katniss and ally her, don't ever let her go.""I promise I won't. Not until my death."A small smile touches Peeta's lips. "Let's all hope that isn't soon." He walks forward, adopting that arrogant strut of a happy Career. I climb a tree and shadow him, taking his advice on being careful and staying about ten yards away from the Careers."Was she dead?" asks Boy Two."No. But she is now," Peeta says. And then the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?"It's almost dawn. The Career pack sets off at a run. Birdsong fills the air. I'm about to hurry after them when a rustle surprises me. I quickly hide and peer through the leaves. A tree or two along from me, Katniss is wriggling herself from a tree branch, cocooned in a black sleeping bag, hidden amongst the willow branches. Katniss!

An eerie silence is dropped over the birds, save one, who whistles out a tune. A hovercraft appears above us, and claws descend over the dead girl Peeta saw off. The birds carry on their songs.

Katniss drops to the ground and packs her sleeping bag into her bright orange backpack. She walks out of the shielding willow and pauses a second, then tilts her head to the side and smiles a little. It must be for the cameras. Any other reason would suggest she's not handled the last few days well. If you know what I mean.

I watch her go about her businesses, not sure what to do — checking her snares, cooking a rabbit she caught. My mouth waters. Oh, what I wouldn't give for rabbit! Any sort of proper food! My stomach growls angrily. I'm about to approach her, but I hesitate. Maybe now's not the time.

Katniss stands, takes the spit that holds the rabbit, kicks dirt over to coals. She sets off in the opposite direction of the Careers.

I'm back to following.

To my jealousy, she devours half of the rabbit as she goes, and wraps the rest in a piece of plastic to save for later. What else does she have in that backpack, her beloved lamb stew? A bottle of the finest wine?

As we walk, it's getting hotter and hotter. I'm eating berries, which is keeping me barely satisfied — at least, better off than Katniss. She's panting like a dog, staggering along, sweating bullets. I keep waiting for her to conjure up a bottle of water, but she doesn't. Should I help her? Something is holding me back. No, it says. Not just yet.

Hours pass and I'm feeling headachey and light-headed, and my mouth and lips are sticky and I have a disgusting metallic aftertaste from the berries. Katniss is getting slower and slower.

Around the late afternoon she spies a bush of berries, the berries I've been eating. Oh, good, she recognizes them, I think as she rips the skin from one. Then she pauses and throws it away.

What? What are you doing? Don't you have them at home? Don't you recognize them?

Obviously she doesn't. She hauls herself to her feet and moves on.

I don't. I'm sorry, Peeta, I think as I half-tumble from the tree I'm in and sink to the ground. I can't do it. She's so much stronger than I am.

My head pounds with every heartbeat. It hurts to move. I slide my eyes closed with a small smile. Ah, sleep. It's so soothing. Takes the pain away. I wonder if death is like that, or if it's painful and searing before instant blackness. I hope it isn't the latter.

I hear a small twitter above me. It's only soft, but in my fragile state it echoes through my head as if screamed through a microphone.

It's like a switch has been flicked on. My mind immediately starts spinning with thoughts demanding me to keep on going.

SISTERS! MOM! ADRIANA! KATNISS! PEETA! THRESH! MOCKINGJAYS! HOME! WATER!I gasp as my eyes fly open. Painfully, I roll onto my back and find a curious mockingjay regarding me on the lowest branch of the tree above me. It must have been the source of the twitter that woke me up.

I realize it's dark, or just about. Was I really asleep? Was I dying?

I smile, my dry, cracked lips stinging and breaking, bleeding a little. "Thank you," I breathe. The mockingjay bounces on its branch and whistles out a few notes as if it's saying, come on, get up!

I close my eyes again. I can't...Tweet tweet. _Get up_, the mockingjay says.

No, I think. I'm too tired.

Tweet tweet. _Get up_.

I force my eyes open again. Fine. All right. I'll try.

Tweet tweet. _Get up_."I. Am," I grunt, ever so slowly pulling myself up onto my knees. I groan and lay a hand on my head.

Tweet tweet.

I wobble to my feet, almost collapsing.

Tweet tweet.

I look up at my little savior. "I'm up."The mockingjay toots out a few happy notes before flying off.

Suddenly, there's a loud rustle ahead of me. I freeze, my eyes wide. Whatever it is, it's coming closer, and in a great hurry.

It's a young deer.

It bursts out of the bush in front of me. A flash of light. It knocks me sideways, sending me stumbling into a tree. Pain flares up my arm. I wince and stare after the wild dog. Wait a minute... That light. Why is a deer light? I blink a couple of times just in time to see the deer zigzag out of sight. It's on fire. Its hide is on fire.

A sharper pain stabs my arm. I flinch and put my other hand over the top. "Ah!" I gasp, flicking my head to my injury. Then I scream. The fire from the deer jumped onto my jacket, and it's burning me. I rip my jacket off. Bad idea. A layer of skin is torn off with it. I stamp out the fire and cradle my arm to my chest, whimpering.

Well, nothing like catching on fire to get you up on your feet.

I look up at the bright blue artificial sky. Hang on... It isn't as blue as it should be. There's a tinge of grey over it, almost like a transparent cover of...Of smoke.

I take a deep breath in.

Yes. It's smoke. And if that deer ran towards me, then that must mean it's running away from a fire.

I face the direction where I last saw the deer and run.


	20. Chapter 20: I Lend a Hand

**Hello! Me again. Sorry uploading this one has taken longer than expected - I only just got it back from my _beta _a few days ago (I love her, but she's a bit disorganised!), and now has been the only chance I've had to upload it. But anyway, here it is.  
I'd like to thank everyone for the constant reviews, especially the new readers, who have so much to say about my story. Thank you so much.  
One or two of you have suggested I put a chapter at the end of Deep in the Meadow that is from Rue-the-muttation's point of view. I was thinking of doing this too, but then I remembered that the muttations are just meant to remind Katniss, Peeta and Cato of the other tributes - they aren't the actual tributes. So instead I have something else in store. What is it, I hear you say? Well, you're just going to have to wait to find out...  
But enough babbling from me. Please read or, and don't forget to drop in a review!**

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**Chapter Twenty  
**I Lend a Hand

Before long, mockingjays are flying away above me in a panic, and all sorts of animals are running, charging through the trees in a flurry, and I follow them, but I'm exhausted to the point of pretty much collapsing and I soon fall behind. My boots feel as heavy as bricks. The fire is catching up too quickly. Didn't I have a five-minute head start? How did it burn so viciously?

I can feel the heat roasting my back, and the roar of the fire devouring everything in its path. I duck under branches and weave around obstacles. Smoke is beginning to tickle my throat. I cough, stumbling. I know that every step away from the fire I take is a step closer to the Careers. Of course this is a Gamemaker's fire, to spice up a boring slope in the Games.

In less than a minute I'll be blinded and suffocated by the smoke, and probably crushed by one of the branches crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks right behind me.

I try to run harder, but I'm slowing down. I cough and hack as I flee from the flames, but it's getting almost unbearable.

Finally, as a last-ditch attempt to survive, I dive behind a large rock and curl into a ball, retching up all that's in my stomach — not much, mind you.

I can feel the heat descending upon me, and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, anticipating the fire... But it never comes. I cough more and peep over the rock. Everything is burnt and black and dead, but the fire is gone. Just like that. I manage to get to my feet, trying to suppress my coughing. Because why else would the fire have stopped but another tribute is nearby?

I'm shaking. No — shaking's too gentle a word. Vibrating, maybe? Violently jerking about? Despite this, I pluck a few berries from the plant and nibble on them, and hoist myself up a tree for safety.

A noise.

I stop dead, opening my ears. It's footsteps. Coughing. Calling in rough voices. Now talking.

I creep over, through the trees, to the noise.

It's the Careers, talking to a girl who's in a tree. "Well enough," Boy Two is saying to her. "Yourself?"

"A bit warm for my taste," the girl replies. My heart leaps with relief. It's Katniss! The fire drove us together. Yes! I don't have to let Peeta down! But the other Careers are here too...

I hurry over to her tree, as silently as I can in my damaged state. It sounds like everyone else has been roughed up quite a bit, too.

"The air's better up here," Katniss says as I hop from tree to tree. "Why don't you come on up?"

Boy Two smiles viciously. "I think I will."

The pretty girl, One, holds out her silver bows and arrows. "Here, take these, Cato," she says.

"No," says Boy Two — Cato — pushing away the bow. "I'll do better with my sword." I can see it in his belt. An ugly, evil-looking thing it is, too. Short and sharp and heavy.

I follow Katniss, keeping a few feet away from her, in a neighboring tree, so she can't see me, as she begins to scale the tree. She's an elegant climber, and appears as comfortable this high as I am. Cato, on the other hand — well, he couldn't have even been thirty feet up when there's a loud CRACK and he tumbles to the ground, flailing like a madman. The sound when he hits the ground is so loud it makes me wince. I hope he's seriously damaged, but he jumps to his feet, swearing like a sailor.

Girl One decides to try her luck, but with no avail. She's smart enough to climb down when the branches start creaking under her weight. Instead, she goes for the bow. Psh. She can't get Katniss — we're at least eighty feet up, and she can't even fire a bow properly. An arrow gets lodged into the tree near Katniss, and she pulls it out, grinning and waving it teasingly.

Glimmer is less than happy about this.

The Careers have a heated scheming session that lasts until twilight has well and truly settled in. It's now or never, I think. Attack Katniss or forever hold your peace.

Well... At least, until morning. By which time hopefully she'll be long gone.

This strange tense silence that has descended upon us, Katniss not even appearing to make an effort to eavesdrop on the conversation, has allowed by injuries to make themselves more known. By burn starts stinging badly, and it still feels like I'm on fire if I let my mind stray, so hot the wound is. Various bruises, cuts and scrapes sing to me. I'm almost relieved when Peeta snaps, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

I study the Careers and Katniss getting ready to sleep. The Careers select a lookout and the others lie down to rest. Katniss settles down in her sleeping bag, cutting a hole in it to let breathe what seems to be a vicious burn on her leg.

I let my gaze wander, inspecting my surroundings. My gaze fall upon a nest right above Katniss. It's a nest I could never mistake. "Whatever you do, Rue," Mom used to say every other day, "steer clear of the tracker jacker nests."

And that's what it is. A tracker jacker nest.

There's no doubt about it — I have to warn Katniss. I lean forward, steeling my exhausted, battered body to move to her tree, when she looks straight at me.

I freeze.

Her gaze is merely blank, simply staring at me as if she's decided I'm nothing more than a nocturnal animal. Then, abruptly, she sits up on one elbow. Recognition. She knows it's me.

I stretch my hand out and point to the nest above her head, pointing with my eyes as well. Her head slowly tilts back and she instantly and quite clearly tenses when she spots the nest.

I pull my arm back and settle down on the branch, all the time watching her. Wondering what her next move will be. She looks back to me, but by the way her eyes search the foliage around me, I can tell I am invisible to her.

I turn my head to the direction of the Careers. The girl One is leaning against a tree, looking sleepy. Pathetic lookout. The others are either lying half-asleep or are already unconscious in a light doze.

I jump when the Capitol seal lights up the sky like a searchlight and the anthem blares. I squint through the leaves up at it, the brightness stinging my eyes. No deaths today. I hope my picture and name won't be up in that sky tomorrow.

I find a comfortable fork on the tree and try to sleep, but the slightest rustle, whether it is made by humans, animals or wind, sends my blood spiking with adrenaline, snapping me awake. I manage an hour or so of a fitful sleep that leaves me feeling even worse than before. My injuries are screaming. My bones are aching. My head is throbbing. I just want to go home.

I'm about to fall asleep for the millionth time when the song of a bird wakes me with a sharp jolt. I gasp sharply, my hand instantly at my slingshot.

"It's just a bird, Rue," I whisper to myself harshly.

It takes a minute or so for my words to sink in properly, and when they finally do, something else frightens me again.

"Rue!" It's a whisper, but in the quiet dawn, it's loud and clear.

I pop my head back up to the small gap where Katniss saw me last night. Katniss catches my eye. I resist a frown — why is she still there? — and point to the tracker jacker nest, in case she mistook me in the darkness of last night. Katniss holds up a knife and makes a sawing motion with her hands. I nod. I don't want to stick around, waiting for a swarm of angry tracker jackers. So I flee, jumping from tree to tree. It kills my joints, but I've done it so many times it's basically just muscle memory, like walking.

I'm still running when I hear the shouts of alarm, surprise and pain. The tracker jackers have found their targets.

I push my body harder to go faster as I hear the Careers, screaming as they go, charging in my direction. Get away! Get away! Get away! They're only bringing the tracker jackers with them, and I don't want any of the evil wasps to find me!

I give up; I screech to a halt in the tree I'm in and hide as best I can, blending in with the foliage. I'm breathing heavily. Please don't find me, I think, my eyes squeezed shut.

The Careers barrel past me and I hear splashes far off. A lake? There's been a lake here this whole time?

I slowly open my eyes and look around. There aren't any tracker jackers around, not that I can see. I blink as my eyes focus on the leaves in front of me, and not m other surroundings.

Would you look at that. The tree I'm in — back home we use these to treat tracker jacker stings. I snag a handful of leaves and stuff them in my already-full pockets.

I carefully climb down. The sound of the Careers splashing draws me towards the water. I'm so dehydrated I'm not even thirsty anymore.

I make a snap-decision: go towards the lake. Already I can hear the Careers, loud as they are, clambering out of the lake. I follow the sound.

The Careers are leaving by the time I finally reach the lake. The water may have temporarily soothed the initial sting and driven off any more attackers, but the venom is quickly getting to work. One or two of them have collapsed on the rocks, shuddering and twitching violently, their eyes wide and crazed. I can hear manic screeches from the others. A cannon fires.

I wait until the venom is definitely inside them, presenting their worst fear to them, before I dare slipping into the lake. It's not the cleanest, but it's water. I rinse my hands and then cup them, downing handful after handful of water. Eventually I am satisfied. I want to clean myself, but the Careers might come back.

I carefully watch the two Careers that have fallen near the bank. One is curled into a ball, muttering words under his breath, one trembling arm outstretched. The other is less composed, thrashing around wildly, animalistic shrieks and wails ripping almost forcefully from his lips as if an invisible hand is reaching down his throat and pulling them out.

I have no sympathy for them. The venom won't kill them — not like the Careers themselves killed many others. I think, for their actions, they deserve to suffer for a few hours.

One of them has a pack over one shoulder. It's open, the front sagging down like a gaping mouth. All its contents must have fallen out in the crazy dash for the lake. I inch over to the Career. He doesn't even register my appearance. I gingerly rest my fingers on the strap of his pack. No response. Carefully, I slide the pack from his reaching arm. He lets out a whimper which makes me jump, but he makes no move to attack.

Then the pack is mine. I empty my pockets, dumping everything inside the bag, and zip up the pack.

Feeling refreshed and even slightly cheery — I survived the tracker jacker attack, got a backpack, and I got a nice big drink of water — I slip back into the trees, a ghost once more.

I hope Katniss is okay. I hope that cannon from before wasn't for her.

And Peeta. Did he get stung? Is he dead? I don't have a clue.

A second cannon fires. Shouting and screaming.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to block out the sounds. They remind me of back home, when an unfortunate person gets stung and has to be carried home by at least four people. Once, when I was seven, a toddler that has strayed from his mother accidentally tripped, stumbling into a sapling. The sapling held a tracker jacker nest and it fell out of the branches and into the toddler's lap. He died in less than a minute. The tortured cries for help that resonated through the trees where I worked are still burned into my brain.

After a few minutes, there's a long, high-pitched shriek that lasts for longer than I thought possible. Then silence. No more screaming. Not even from the flailing Career nearby.

Depending on how many stings each Career got, the biggest threat is out for a few days. A smile spreads on my face. I have the arena pretty much to myself, apart from only a few people. I'll have to keep vigilant, but I have a bit more freedom to get my act together now.

The Careers always have a sort of base, somewhere they stash all their food. I can even see it now; I'm right by it.

And I am very hungry.


	21. Chapter 21: There's No Place Like Home

**[A/N] Sorry this is so late, guys. In my defence, my beta has been holding onto this one for a couple of weeks. She also has the next chapter. She said she'd have them both for me by yesterday... So that didn't quite work out. But enough with the pointing fingers, let's get on to the next chapter!**

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Chapter 21  
There's No Place Like Home

I don't really have a plan of action. Scout first, I think. Then I'll decide.

The food stash is well hidden in a copse of trees. I swiftly scale one of these trees. My plan here is to study the area, figure out if there are any traps.

The boy from Three is there. I can see a tracker jacker sting on the back of his hand. He's had the good sense to pull the stinger out, unlike the other Careers, but he's still on the floor, crying and shivering and muttering to himself.

Feeling a spark of hope, I move forward, slowly. That's when I hear, "You get the hell away from her!"

I stop in my tracks.

"Get down and fight me like a man!"

I swallow hard. I know who it is. Cato. I don't know how he's on his feet, but he's right underneath me. I don't dare look down.

"Don't you dare do it!" he screams, his voice breaking on the word 'dare'. "Don't touch her!"

He grabs hold of the tree I'm in and shakes it hard. "I said GET DOWN!" He sucks in a shaky breath. He's crying hard. "I'll kill you!"

I risk a glance down. My heart stops.

He's staring right at me. We lock eyes and there's so much raw, crazed emotion in his eyes that I can't look away.

He must be so strong to fight the tracker jacker venom enough to stay on his feet for this long. But he's still hallucinating. He falls to his knees, clutching his head. "You sick murderer!" he shouts. "Die! I'll kill you!" He's almost foaming at the mouth. His face is red and blotchy and tears are creating tracks down his filthy face. "Mom!" he shrieks, clawing at the air. "Mom! No!"

He collapses onto his face, gut-wrenching sobs escaping his lips. "No. No!"

I watch in horror as Cato suddenly starts raking his hands on the tree trunk, lying on his side, his fingers beginning to bleed as he scratches at the tree like his life depends on it. He starts panting out random words, some of them not even real words at all, and then starts clawing at his face with broken, dirty nails.

I decide it's time to leave. I can't bear to watch this anymore.

I give one last longing glance at the Career's food stash. No, I can't stay. Cato, as insane as he may be, still knows I'm here and he may still be capable of killing.

I lithely drop down near Cato. I study him for a moment longer, my head cocked sympathetically. He's getting weaker. I could kill him now. I could just get my slingshot and kill him.

My hand moves to my pocket, where I keep my weapon. I grip it in one hand and find a stone on the ground. I slowly take aim, and when I have his head locked behind the stone, I squeeze my eyes shut. "I'm sorry they did this to you," I whisper. Then I let go.

Out of the blue I'm pushed onto the ground. My eyes fly open to find Cato on top of me. He has no weapon in his hands. His grip on me is feeble. Only his immense weight is holding me down.

He lowers his head right next to my ear as I struggle. "You missed. You can't shoot ME," he says softly, his breath hot on my ear.

His hands close around my neck. I try to rip his hands away, unable to get air in or out. He presses down. Tears spring to my eyes. Black spots dance before them. I push Cato's face, claw at his eyes, punch him, kick my legs, but I can't get out.

Then, as suddenly as he was on me, his weight disappears. I roll to my side, coughing and heaving in lungful after lungful of air through my raw throat. I look up at Cato, who's on his feet again. "Not me!" he shrieks, instantly collapsing and curling into a ball. Then he leaps up again and with a roar, barrels towards a tree like he's about to tackle it. He smashes into it with a sickening _thunk_ and drops to the ground, unconscious.

I shakily get to my feet and rub my neck. It hurts so badly. I can't swallow properly.

I don't care about killing Cato anymore. I just run right past him. I don't want to have to see him ever again.

I run to the lake, gasping as the air rakes at my bruised throat. I trip over something and tumble down the rocks and into the water, face down.

I prop myself up, sucking in painful breaths. Panting, I shift into sitting position in the shallow lake, wincing at the brand-new scrapes and cuts that I earned from my clumsiness. I realize that what I tripped over was in fact an unconscious Career, the one that before was thrashing around.

Trembling, I get to my feet. Now I'm battered AND soaking wet. It's quite refreshing, but not exactly ideal. I clamber out of the lake, feeling like a drowned rat.

Katniss must be nearby. The tree she was in before is, anyway. Maybe she stayed.

I hurry over to it. There's no trace of her, only a virtually empty wasp's nest on the ground, and some leftover Career packs. I rummage through them. There's next to no supplies in them; just a bar of some sort, a half-eaten packet of dried fruit and a single strip of beef jerky left. I eat the beef jerky and store the rest of the food in my pack.

In one pack I find a root. I've never seen it before, but it looks like something someone has dug up, so I put it in my pack too. Maybe sooner or later I'll have the opportunity to build a fire and roast it. Or I could eat it raw. The latter being more likely.

I scan the area forlornly. Who knows where Katniss could've got to in her hallucinogenic state? Maybe one of the cannons was hers and she's on her way home. I can't believe that, though. It just seems so far-fetched. The infamous Katniss Everdeen, taken down by a couple of wasps? Yeah, right. I bet she's hunkering down somewhere clever, waiting to pounce on whichever unlucky tribute walks past.

At least, that's what I like to think. Truth be known, if she got stung by more than one, she's probably out like a light right now. I wonder how long it'll be until she wakes up.

The rest of the hot day goes by painfully slowly. I briefly search for Katniss, with no success — if she's passed out, finding her could very well be near impossible — and scavenge for food. I fill up my small water skin and dig around for more of those strange roots I found in a Career's pack, again with no avail — but I don't want to wander too far away in case Katniss comes back.

I don't go near the Career food stash again. I know Cato is there, but I don't know whether he's still unconscious or not. And maybe others are there. Maybe the area is covered with traps. Normally I'd be up for an adventure, but all by myself, in an unfamiliar place filled with killers, I'm too afraid, and I'm desperate for my family and a bed. That, and I'm terrible at making plans to destroy stuff.

I'm terrified the Gamekeepers are going to do something to the tributes in the time the Careers and Katniss are out.

I climb a tree and scale the highest branch, and look around me. Nothing. For miles. Just trees and the lake. How big is this place?

I clamber down a few feet, and settle on a branch comfortably. What is there to do but wait the day out? I have all I need.

I could kill the unconscious Careers.

I sit up straighter. That's what I could do. Get proactive. I jump down and hurry to the lake, loading my slingshot. I pull it taut as I break through the trees.

But they aren't there.

Oh dear.

How did they move? Did someone carry them? Did they wake up?

A jitter of fear runs through me and I leap up the nearest tree as thoughts of Careers lying wait, ready to pounce on me, shoot through my brain.

A sudden and dizzying spell of exhaustion washes over me and my eyelids droop, my legs feel weak. I have to sit down. I lean against the trunk for support. My eyes close but my mind is too active for me to fall asleep.

There's no place like home, I think. There's no place like home.


	22. Chapter 22: Partnership

**[A/N] Finally, my _beta_sent this back! I sent her an email that was ENTIRELY IN CAPS, ASKING AS POLITELY AS I COULD FOR HER TO HURRY UP. And it worked - she sent it back to me in a couple of hours. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much to everyone for the reviews and subscriptions. Anyone is welcome to drop a PM in my inbox if you want me to review/read your fanfics, or ask a question, etc. I may not reply straight away, but I _will reply_!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**(P.S. How did everyone like the movie? It changed my life. I bawled my eyes out at *spolier alert* Rue's death. Congrats to the cast of the movie! Good job guys 3 Looking forward to Ctaching Fire!)**

**(P.P.S. Sorry I keep changing how I present the title of the chapter and stuff - I just do whatever I feel like at the moment I edit this.)**

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**Chapter 22**

Partnership

There she is, on the ground, dead to the world.

I shuffle forward and use a stick to prod her. She stirs. Okay. Good. She's not_ actually_ dead.  
It's been two days, and no deaths since the tracker jacker attack. It's been eerily quiet, and I don't like it. Right now it's night time, and I've found Katniss lying in a shallow hole.  
I sit back, my fingers wrapped around my slingshot in case someone attacks us. Maybe when she realizes that I protected her, she'll be more likely to accept me as an ally. I have it all planned out in my head. When she wakes up, I won't be sitting right here, in case she flips out. I'll be behind a tree or something, and when she wakes up properly and gets her bearings, then I'll approach her.  
I'm so tired, but I have to be awake when she becomes conscious. If I was here, asleep next to her, when she woke, imagine what she could do to me. I'd be dead in a split second.  
I take a steadying breath. Maybe if I just hide in that over there for a while, I might be able to catch a few minutes' sleep.  
I haul myself to my feet and creep over to the aforementioned tree, and climb up it, out of sight of Katniss. I get comfortable, crossing my arms, and close my eyes.  
When they open again, it's afternoon. My heart skips a beat in shock and worry, and I do a quick survey of my surroundings to make sure I'm alone before I drop down from the tree, dodging around its trunk to see if Katniss is there.  
She's not.  
I bite back a curse word and climb up the tree again, and jump from branch to branch, scanning the ground for signs of her.  
It must be over an hour before I hear splashes from not too far away. I creep over to the sound and oh good, it's Katniss. She's wading in a stream, cleaning herself and her new weapons that she must have gotten from the One girl. I stand back, jealous. Why didn't I think of that? Round of applause to you, Rue. Round of applause.  
The sun is so hot and seeing Katniss washing all the dirt and grime off her, out of her hair, makes it seem even hotter.

After a while, she dresses in her damp clothes, brushing her hair through a couple of time with her fingers, and braiding it back again. She spreads a cream on her burns. My heart pangs with hurt when this brings to attention the fact that Adriana has sent me nothing yet. Maybe I have no sponsors. Katniss heads upriver, and so I as well, idly picking up various fruits and plants that I recognize on the way, and putting them in my new pack. I promise to myself that when she stops again, I'll ask her to be my ally. Now's a better time than ever. The Careers should all be up and about by now, so it wouldn't hurt to have someone watch my back.

On the way, Katniss spies a groosling — a water bird that they have back home. She takes it down with a single arrow. First the rabbit, and now the groosling.

I _really_ want her as my ally.

It's bordering on dusk when Katniss finally stops. I duck behind a tree and listen to the sounds of her setting up a fire and preparing her kills for roasting. I'm salivating.

Now, Rue, I think. Do it now, or you never will.

And so I edge my feet forward. Snap. I freeze. Oops. I stepped on a twig. I hear the sound of a bow being pulled taut. I close my eyes, my heart beating at a million miles an hour.

There's sound of something being dropped on the ground. Then the sound of her voice.

"You know, they're not the only ones who can form alliances."

Her words shock me so much I can't reply for a moment. Then I warily poke half of my head around the tree trunk. "You want me for an ally?"

"Why not?" Katniss says casually."You saved me with those tracker jackers. You're smart enough to still be alive. And I can't seem to shake you anyway."

No words come out of my mouth. The only movement I make is my eyes blinking as my brain processes the information.

"You hungry?" Katniss asks. As soon as she mentions this, the smell of the cooking meat is irresistible. My eyes are drawn to the food, and I swallow. "Come on then, I've had two kills today," Katniss urges me.

I take a ginger step out from behind the tree. I feel I have to prove that I'm worth keeping as an ally, so I say, "I can fix your stings."

"Can you?" Katniss asks hopefully."How?"

I take off my pack and fish my hand around in it, grab a bunch of the anti-venom leaves and hold then out to Katniss."Where'd you find those?" she says. She must know what they are.

"Just around. We all carry them when we work in the orchards. They left a lot of nests there," I add. "There are a lot here, too."

"That's right," Katniss says."You're District Eleven. Agriculture. Orchards, huh? That must be how you can fly around the trees like you've got wings." I smile. "Well, come on, then. Fix me up."

Katniss sits down and rolls up her pant leg to reveal a tracker jacker sting on her knee. I'm not surprised to find she's had the sense to pull the stingers out.

I put some of the leaves in my mouth and chew them. They don't have the best taste, but they're not too bad. I make sure they're entirely chewed, then put the green glob on Katniss' knee. A long, relieved sound escapes her mouth. I giggle. "Lucky you had the sense to pull the stingers out or you'd be a lot worse."

"Do my neck! Do my cheek!" Katniss gasps eagerly.

I stuff another handful of leaves in my mouth, and apply the pulp to Katniss' leg. She's laughing with relief.

"I've got something for that," she says suddenly, looking at the burn on my arm. She sets aside her weapons and digs her hand into her pack, pulling out a little tub of ointment that I saw her apply to her own burns earlier today. She rubs it on my burn and the heat from it is sucked out. It's so soothing. "You have good sponsors," I say longingly.

"Have you gotten anything yet?"Katniss asks. I shake my head. "You will, though. Watch. The closer we get to the end, the more people will realize how clever you are." Her compliments fill me with hope.

"You weren't joking, about wanting me for an ally?" I say tentatively.

"No, I meant it," Katniss says.

A wide smile spreads on my face."Okay," I say, and hold out my hand. We shake. "It's a deal."


End file.
